Kaito House
by vinterse
Summary: The lilac-colored Kaito house was the only piece of land north of the lighthouse not owned by the Monsanto Corporation. Its reclusive resident was skeptical of local myths… until one washed up on her doorstep.
1. The Blackened Sea

_You shut your mouth  
How can you say  
I go about things the wrong way ?  
I am human and i need to be loved  
Just like everybody else does_

. . .

"And what about that last oceanside house?"

There was a glimmer of greed in the man's expression as he held the binoculars to his glasses, craning his neck.

"Right through here, we have a beautiful property just past the scenic cliffs and bamboo forests," the realtor acknowledged, smiling widely and gesturing towards the narrow road that wound up past the lighthouse and cliff and into the vast green of the mountains.

"It's prime seaside real estate, our _Kaito House_, complete with own generator, water supply, propane tank…" gushed the realtor, "But the tenant refuses to move out. One of those stubborn recluse types, you know. Westerner."

The businessman gave a curt, understanding nod, glasses flashing.

"I know exactly what you mean."

"A real waste, too, right past the lighthouse. Wouldn't sell out to that Monsanto corporation, either."

"Really?" the businessman's dark eyes narrowed in interest.

"Oh yes! I come to talk to her but she doesn't answer the door anymore. Always sitting out back ignoring me! I offered her the highest price and then Monsanto came while I was leaving and I heard them offer nothing short of half a million in American dollars! You know what she say then?" the realtor laughed derisively, her faux-pearl necklace flashing.

"She tell them to get lost. She tell them she'd sooner sell her soul than let them have house and dump chemicals all over."

"Well, this has been most educational," said the man, handing back the binoculars. "My company will get back to you on the purchase of land further south."

"Thank you, Mr. Katashi," replied the realtor, enthusiastically baring her white teeth once more. "Keep those, courtesy of Blue Heron Realty."

The businessman nodded and paused against the rusting iron railing, glancing down into the swelling waves. The realtor clicked away on her heels, and he was left alone. It was noon, and the docks were deserted, the fishermen all gone for the day. Swiftly he texted a message on his iPhone, and then raised the binoculars up to the distant house sprawling the cliffs, its curtains drawn closed. He smiled as he watched a car pass by.

The green Toyota Prius pulled away from the grocery store and wound its way higher on the seaside road. It accelerated with a faint rumble over the bumps and potholes, then screeched slower at perilous turns, as though the driver, absentminded, had only just recalled their danger. This was partly the case.

"Goddamn deadlines should go-" the tires slid and jarred and the woman snapped out several more choice words. "And those pestering buggers don't have anything better to do than knock on my door every half hour. Can't they see I'm trying to finish a book?"

A harried sigh escaped her frowning mouth as she pulled into the driveway and off the lighthouse road, setting the Toyota to park and grabbing the massive paper bags to haul into the house. She sorted through the groceries and set them in their proper places, grabbed a laptop, and headed through the back door, which creaked ominously. The doorbell and the phone remained unhooked and sprinkled with a fine dusting of plaster.

But if the Kaito house was in need of renovation, the scenery was not. Beyond the jagged cliffs that spanned the shoreline, dropping off magnificently to the ocean below, there led a narrow path through the rocks and onto a thin strip of beach littered with boulders and sea-shells. It was there the woman headed now, sun glancing on light-brown hair rarely found in this part of the world, laptop tucked under an arm.

Lodging herself comfortably in the moss-covered boulders, a serene lull settled on the beach, and in the woman's features, as she closed her eyes and listened. The waves gushed softly, advancing and retreating on the sand. The sea breeze was fresh and salty, and coaxed a genuine, relaxed smile from the woman.

She snapped open the laptop, and glanced through her e-mail. It was ironic, she reflected, that the remote Japanese fishing village she had chosen for its peace and quiet could carry a signal, could connect her to the internet, and return her to the old life in a heartbeat.

_Dear Morgan Winters_, read the particular e-mail. _It's been a productive year since we found that isolated little village for you, but the editors are waiting to see results. It's been months since you were last published and unless you want to fade away into obscurity…_

_Blah, blah, blah,_ mouthed Morgan, skimming.

_We are growing concerned at your prolonged absence, and looking forward to reestablishing contact. Please pick up the phone so we can discuss the terms of your next deadline. _

There was more, and it was signed with the agent's name.

"We are concerned? Yeah right… concerned for losing profit, you mean," Morgan scoffed, but then she added lightly, "Well you just keep calling and I won't answer."

There was another e-mail, too, one marked officially and written far more dryly. Between the lines it threatened to have the "unsafe" Kaito house condemned if the tenant did not sell it to Monsanto.

"When that Monsanto Corporation sees the role I cast them in, they'll regret ever attempting to blackmail me…" Morgan grinned, exiting out the server and beginning to type into her word document.

The ocean breeze on her face, the steady beating of the waves, the glimmer of the sun on the sea all created the ideal conditions for writing. It was many hours later, back stiff from sitting among the boulders, sun setting brilliantly over the waves, that Morgan headed back up to the house.

. .

The lilac-colored Kaito house stood in the shelter of the cliffs beneath the lighthouse on its own outcropping of rock. It was the only piece of land north of the lighthouse not owned by the Monsanto Corporation that had begun to dig its claws into the coastline. Unbeknownst to Morgan, the realtor and the fishing village, Monsanto's waste disposal plant had been operating at full capacity for a month, and had during this time dumped in excess of several hundred tons of toxic waste into a landfill that had leaked straight into the ocean.

The effects were becoming pronounced, however, as the bubbling sludge washed up on the beach, and the fishing nets produced fish that were listless and immobile. A strange odor began to waft south to the village, too, and the chemicals leeched deeper and further out to sea, until the imbalance stirred a reaction. At least, that was what the locals said.

Morgan still refused to believe in their magic. _Local superstition,_ she thought savagely into the beating rain that threatened to flood her house. _Utter nonsense._

And in the sheets of rain that whipped against the cliffs and roof, there came a heavy knocking at her door. It was a struggle to open it just a crack in the wind, and so when Morgan attempted to peek out and insist she was busy, the door flew open and nearly caught the nearest-standing man on the nose.

The businessmen entered her house without hesitation, all dripping in their black and white suits, all smiling impassively, all flawlessly polite and insistent. Morgan shut the door with some effort and rounded on them, but they had trooped a wet trail to her sitting room that looked out on the billowing ocean, the enormous windows shivering beneath the onslaught of the rain.

"What are you doing in my house?" said Morgan abruptly, still shocked at the men's audacity. There were five of them, standing there and still smiling unnaturally in their extremely disconcerting manner.

"We just wanted to discuss your insurance with you," said the leader smoothly. "My name is Hachiro Katashi," he strode over to the window and glanced appraisingly at the storm outside. "And I have a proposition for you."

Far out at sea, the swells and buffets of the waves began to gently rock a vast, heavy tanker labeled _Monsanto Oil Co_.

Many miles deeper, in a luminescent little submarine cruiser that had finned its way from local legends, a very mythical creature indeed was cursing humans to a vicious and early end, speeding through the water and toward the source of the "_cursed imbalance, yet again…_"

. .

"So you're saying…" trailed off Morgan, scowling and drawing back the curtains as a bright bolt of lightning pierced the steel-grey sky. "What you're saying…"

"We've received all licenses and the oil tanker is on its way," confirmed Katashi. "Very soon our waste processing plant will be upgraded to full manufacturing status, and we will begin to expand into the village. But first," he glanced around the Kaito house with unmasked disdain, "We're going to get rid of this place. I'll offer you a hundred thousand for the shack."

"You should take it, good offer," urged another of the businessmen, sipping Morgan's green tea. "Won't get another offer that good."

"I have no plans on selling at this time," said Morgan. "If I change my mind I will let you know."

"It's not a question of if, but when," spoke up another businessman.

Morgan tore her eyes away from the ocean, where the outline of the oil tanker had appeared, buffeted by the waves, and something colorful had flashed momentarily by, much closer, nearly beneath her window.

"Really? And why is that?"

"Because soon," said Katashi impatiently, "this place will be uninhabitable. Once we begin full-scale manufacture, we'll evacuate the area. We're trying to give you an edge here – sell while you still can."

"I'll think about it."

"Are you deaf, lady? I heard Westerners were stubborn, but this is unreasonable! Sell the Kaito house and go back to New York!"

"I'm glad we had this talk," Morgan replied sardonically, turning her back to the window once more. "Now get out of my house. I'll sue you to hell and back before I let you take my house and turn it into a toxic dump!"

The businessmen filed out as Morgan shooed them through the front door and into the forbidding darkness of the storm. Despite the fact it was noon, the sky was black and grey with heavy clouds.

"Hey!" yelled Katashi suddenly, arms over his head against the rain, squinting through water-beaded glasses. "What's happening to our tanker?"

The businessmen looked around, and so did Morgan. Out at sea below, a strange scene was unfolding. The immense oil tanker was being flung out of control, heading on a perilous course to the offshore reefs.

As they stood on the low cliff with the ocean foaming before them and the rain lashing down harder, they saw the tanker careen closer to the jagged shoals of the sandbar, traveling with unnatural speed for so large an object. The thin silhouette of a person appeared, swimming from the Kaito house's beach and toward the approaching tanker, but it was indistinguishable in the rain and distance. And then, taking Morgan's breath away, the tanker collided with the sharp rocky reef, and with a faint rumble that carried across the ocean, the hull punctured through.

Katashi screamed at his men to get in the car.

"Wait! There's a person down there!" yelled Morgan, eyes wide, but the businessmen shut the car door in her face. Paralyzed by shock, Morgan watched them drive away. Below, the figure seemed to rise until it stood atop the waves and turned toward the tanker that was oozing a black, inky film of oil over the turbulent sea. A strange stillness seemed to settle on the scene, as the waves calmed, an ominous lull interceding the storm.

The water turned glassy clear and still beneath the upturned hands of the figure, who was still fairly close to shore. Long red hair buffeted to and fro by a fierce wind, the figure made an elaborately graceful gesture with its long arms and, as though it were saran wrap, the dangerous black oil lifted and peeled from the surface of the water, retreating into the tanker.

Morgan tore down the narrow path to the beach, barefoot with rain still soaking her hair and cardigan, never mind the uncomfortably wet jeans. The figure's back was to her, but down on the beach she could see it was really balancing on what appeared to be dark mounds of water – boulders, perhaps? And its arms were shivering with the strain of herding back the oil. Blotches of it were being left behind, staining the water darkly. A slick patch was near the figure's feet, another washed up on the sand. Morgan stared, perturbed, and in complete wonder.

And then, without any warning at all, the tanker exploded. The sea gushed up to contain the blast as the figure raised its arms in what was probably frustrated disbelief, and the entire coastline went up in flames. The shockwaves exploded into a burning tsunami off shore, and an immense wave of oil and water, thankfully unlit, overtook the figure and nearly got Morgan, who scrambled back at the last second.

"You!" she screamed, finally snapping into action and out of shock. "Hey! You alive?! Hello?"

But the figure was gone. Morgan caught a glimpse of orange hair and a black-stained hand lolling in the waves. Panicking, bare feet slipping and sliding over the pebbles and sand, she raced into the water. The figure was not very deep in, and in her frenetic state the writer grasped the hand and pulled desperately, catching hold of the collar of the figure's jacket. Whoever it was, Morgan was grateful they were so lean.

"Come on," she gasped out, pulling an oil-stained arm over her shoulder, dragging the figure from the water. The long, wavy mane of orange hair covered their face completely. Slowly but surely, Morgan dragged the figure up the path into the now-flooded Kaito house.

"Come on, lady, I've got you."

. . .

Cleaning up oil was hard work. Once in her house the man, as Morgan now realized, seemed to have lost consciousness, and did not bear witness to the writer's chagrin when she realized the Kaito house was ankle deep in seawater.

Morgan eased the figure into her bathtub and poured a warm bath, clothes and all, adding shampoo. Outside the storm raged, and she was grateful for her water heater and generator. The oil seemed to detach easily enough from the man's vaudevillian, nautically striped jacket, and attach just as easily to Morgan. Maintaining a steady stream of murmured comfort interspersed with swears, she dragged the now clean man onto her soggy couch.

"Drying you is going to be a problem…" she murmured, taking out several towels. "What the…?"

The man's hair and clothes should have been soaking wet, but he was quite dry, and seemed to be feverish. Morgan swept an inordinate amount of hair away and uncovered a long nose, a faintly lined face, a fair amount of make up. His forehead felt warm, so she positioned the man on the couch – his too-long, stick thin legs still drooping over the end and dangling in the water that flooded Kaito house – and after tucking a blanket around him, left him to rest.

"Now then," Morgan stepped back to survey her work. The man's mass of red hair twitched as he breathed, legs ankle-deep in the water thanks to her short couch, black cotton blanket thrown hastily over the stranger. "Right, you rest, and I'll be back with help."

"First order of business is to get the water pump going," Morgan grunted and managed to kick the mechanism into action in the backroom. The buzz permeated the house. She set the tea kettle on and began to check the radio transmission when suddenly there was another knock on the door. On the couch, the figure stirred.

"If that's Monsanto I'm going to kill them…" Morgan opened the door. An old lady, wrinkled and soaking wet, was looking out from under a moss green raincoat, clutching a cane.

"Obaa-chama! I was just going to go check on you! Come in, please come in."

The old woman obliged, voice croaky. "Morgan-chan, my house is flooded completely. They've called off evacuations and the skies are clearing, but what happened?"

"Kaito house is flooded too," Morgan glanced around, "But I've fixed up the pump so it'll be good as new soon. Those Monsanto morons came up here bragging about their oil tanker and their rights to pollute the coastline, but their precious tanker crashed and the oil spill caught fire. They ran away, of course."

"Who-who is that?" gasped the old woman, staring wide-eyed at the occupant of Morgan's couch, who had shifted slightly, hair obscuring his eyes.

"I found him in the water. He was trying to contain the oil-spill somehow. I've got no idea what kind of technology he had up his sleeve… but the whole thing exploded and he was dripping in oil and looked to be drowning. I dragged him up here to wash him off before he was burned alive."

"Morgan-chan! What have you done?" the old woman had paled and was staring from the man to Morgan with surprise.

"I only saved an innocent person from dying a painful death courtesy of Monsanto, Hana," Morgan replied somewhat crossly. "Now can I get you some tea?"

"No, no… Don't you see?"

"What are you talking about? Is he sick? I was going to ask you what sort of tea to make for him – you're good with those herbal remedies of yours-"

"Morgan, you must let him go at once!"

Morgan glanced at Hana, surprised. In her urgency the old woman had dropped her suffixes.

"What do you mean? I saved him."

"Don't you see, child? He's a wizard of the sea! A dangerous creature that hates humans!"

Morgan stared at Hana, then burst into laughter.

"I am not kidding, girl! Put him back into the sea where he belongs!"

"Well – he's in no danger of drying out here," Morgan managed between chuckles, panting. "Come on, Hana, why don't you stay for tea and help me nurse your _wizard_ back to health? He was blasted pretty hard and if the road wasn't flooded I would have taken him to the hospital by now."

Hana was shaking her head hard and backing away, however.

"What was I supposed to do? Hana?"

But the old lady had fled. Morgan turned around with a flustered sigh, and found the man sitting up on the couch, leaning back and soaking his legs in the water. He ran a hand tiredly through his hair, still trembling faintly, and Morgan approached him.

"Hey there, you almost didn't make it," she said. "Can I get you some hot tea or water?"

"Water," whispered the man, voice hoarse. Morgan rushed into the kitchen and poured a glass, noticing the sun had finally peaked out, though the waves were still breaking viciously near the house. She took steaming tea for herself.

"Here," she said, handing it to him. He cast her a sharp glance from beneath the hair, took a sip, and promptly spit it out, coughing.

"I need seawater you foolish girl," he rasped, wheezing.

Morgan laughed. "You're joking, right?"

The man turned his head and dark sea-blue eyes on Morgan, narrowed with displeasure.

Morgan shrugged, raised her eyebrows, and dipped the cup demonstratively into the water on the floor before giving it back, watching in amazement as the man downed the entire glass.

"Tell me what happened," he demanded, voice returning to a low and smoother pitch, if the tone was gruff.

Morgan did.

"Before you finished doing whatever you were doing to clean up, the tanker exploded. Whole reef pretty much caught fire, though it's burned out now. Most of the oil's burnt away, too. I pulled you out before you could drown, though."

"Meddling humans couldn't leave well enough alone…" he muttered under his breath, then added, "I was in no danger of drowning."

"Perhaps not, but you would have burned to a crisp when the fire reached you," Morgan retorted. "Now is there anything else I can get you, ah…dono? I'm Morgan."

"Not unless you can give me my elixirs to restore my power," said the man, pointedly ignoring Morgan's inquest into his name.

"Oh," said Morgan, smiling wickedly. "I've got something much better."

And laughing at the man's confused frown, she slipped a bottle of sake from the kitchen.

"Ah," he said, recognition dawning on his features, "Alcohol."

Morgan didn't need to offer twice.

"Easy there, save some for the starving writer!"

A look of satisfaction crossed the man's exaggerated features as he set the bottle down with a pleased sigh, eyes closing. Morgan took the chance to admire his blue eye-shadow and caught the flash of a gold earring.

"If you don't mind me asking, who the hell are you?"

The man glanced at Morgan appraisingly, with a hint of irritation. "I," he said finally, rising to his full height, "am Fujimoto, human. Now what's this you said about the oil burning away?" He strode over the water to stand at the wide window overlooking the ocean, which was still smoking and hissing angrily. The black residue, however, was nearly gone.

"Monsanto won't get away with this," said Morgan grimly, also surveying the damage. "We've got them for good this time."

"But at what cost?" remarked the man, Fujimoto, quite softly. Then there was another knock on the door.

"What now?" Morgan scowled, making for the door.

Abruptly Fujimoto also turned away from the window. "You should not have brought me here, human," he said angrily.

"Oh? You suicidal now? Honestly! I save someone and not a single _thank you_! What?" she snapped, straight into the face of the local police.

"Megan-san, we heard you witnessed the accident earlier today?" said the officer, ignoring the writer's tone. "We are heading out to sea to investigate and require your presence aboard our vessel to confirm the sequence of events."

"You want me to go out to sea with you?" said Morgan blankly. Behind her, Fujimoto leaned over her shoulder, a long nose sticking out from beneath a mess of hair.

"Yes," he demanded, "Take us out to sea now."

"I see you made a friend," said the police officer amiably, squinting at Morgan. "Finally stopped playing the recluse?"

"That's irrelevant, officer," sniffed Morgan uncomfortably. "And my name is Morgan, not Megan. Do you require my presence?"

"Yes, please come with me."

Morgan turned back to Fujimoto, who not only ignored her but pushed her out of his way to follow the police officer. He jumped from puddle to puddle on the way to the dock, where the officer instructed them to board the town's fastest fishing boat.

Morgan caught Fujimoto turning his long nose up at the small vessel.

"Come along, now," said the policeman, "And tell me what happened."

So for the third time that day Morgan recounted the entire story of the tanker, omitting Fujimoto completely, as the boat made its way through the fumes and toward the wreckage.

While they were speaking, Fujimoto stood beneath the splash of the waves on the bow of the boat, cutting an impressive, if extravagantly colorful figure.

"Never in all my days seen the ocean as cooperative and clear after a storm," the policeman was saying. "Feels like it's egging us along impatiently."

Fujimoto looked impatient too, and out of temper. When Morgan approached him she got an earful.

"…idiot humans and the mess they've caused."

They had reached the tanker in record speed. The ruined hull rested, smoking, along the contaminated reef. Several familiar men in business suits waved up at them from the remains of the deck.

"Hey! We knew you'd come!"

"What happened here, Katashi-san?" called the police officer.

"Crashed our motorboat into a piece of the hull," shouted Katashi. "Must've been a motor malfunction! Terrible waste of oil…"

"How about terrible impact on the environment? Huh?" snarled Morgan. The policeman let down anchor and threw a rope ladder out to the stranded men.

"Morgan, what a pleasure to see you again," said Katashi, climbing aboard.

"Likewise. Now I can hold you accountable for all the trouble you've caused."

Katashi clicked his tongue irritably and said, "You know Monsanto works very closely with the local police… harboring a foreign immigrant _is illegal_."

"I assure you, no loophole in the law is getting you my house," Morgan said firmly.

"Shame, that's such a shame. I thought about leaving you and your eccentric friend here, but no one would know if there were to be an accident," Katashi laid a faint inflection on the word, taking out a cigarette, "and you never made it back to shore. Then the property would automatically be transferred to the government, who would be flattered to fund Monsanto."

"Are you threatening me?" asked Morgan, quite calmly, eyes searching toward the police officer who had retreated into the cabin with a pair of businessmen.

"Wouldn't dream of it. I was just citing the local law which doesn't favor intruders."

"Why you murderous, despicable…" Morgan sputtered, but Katashi waved a hand casually at her. Immediately, two businessmen took her by an elbow each.

Morgan punched and kicked fiercely and did a fair amount of damage before she was unceremoniously thrown overboard and landed, with a splash, into the murky water.

Katashi lit his cigarette and flicked it over the side of the boat. A trail of flaming oil wound back to the tanker. Katashi glanced around, puzzled.

"Did anyone see where her friend went?"

. . .


	2. The Washed out Wizard

* * *

_A/N: Quick notes...  
_

_This isn't going to be terribly long, and unfortunately I'll have to wait at least a week before I even begin to continue writing, but I wanted to say:  
_

_I am astounded, flattered, and thrilled at the feedback! I would not have continued writing this were it not for the reviews, which I cherish dearly. So thank you guys so much, and lurkers, too, and please keep spurring me on._

_ Finally, the short little lyrics at the start may or may not have anything to do with the story. Or refer to previous or future chapters. Or be completely irrelevant. But I'll leave ambiguous interpretation and connections up to you! _

* * *

Chapter 2

_And in the darkened underpass  
I thought oh god, my chance has come at last  
(but then a strange fear gripped me and I  
Just couldn't ask)_

Ignoring the preoccupied humans, Fujimoto had slipped from the boat and called his own cruiser to him, forming the habitual bubble about his head. From below the water, he could see the damage that had been wrought on the ocean, and could begin setting algae and other marine organisms to work on healing it.

"Trust those filthy, selfish humans to disrupt the balance of the ocean!" he complained to the unresponsive waves. They blinked at him and rose, extinguishing any remaining flames at his bidding. Running his hands through his wild red hair, he sighed wearily.

"So much work to be done, to restore the balance of the ocean… my elixirs will help."

He climbed into the cabin of his cruiser, taking large gulps from a long, handled blue vase that was filled with gleaming gold liquid. Magic seeped into the wizard with the elixir, and he summoned sea creatures to him to help banish the pollution, stowing his precious elixirs away and climbing up onto the top of his cruiser.

A blur swam into view. Fujimoto was too busy producing a large, luminescent bubble around the cruiser, dripping white liquid from a long dropper carefully. The blur got larger, and then the bubble was enveloped in a school of jellyfish, pulsating, blowing in a strange current.

"Fujimoto!" came a loud, laughing voice. Fujimoto glanced up, stowing the dropper away.

"Ebisu," he acknowledged. "You must have sensed the imbalance. I am trying to fix it now. I was caught off guard with the oil spill, weakened as I was after cleaning up the industrial runoff of those humans."

"Don't be so hard on yourself, Fujimoto," said Ebisu, emerging from behind the mass of jellyfish that accompanied the fisherman god. His tall black hat swayed in the water, fishing rod swinging about his head, sea bass flocking at his feet.

"It's my job to maintain the balance," Fujimoto insisted irritably. "But I accept your help." He waved a hand and the jellyfish all swarmed to the surface, crowding and pushing the fragments of hull and other waste to shore.

Ebisu smiled, glanced up, cocked his head. "There seem to be a couple humans in trouble up above. I'll guide the stranded one to safety, but I'm not sure the other one's still alive."

"Humans?" Fujimoto nearly groaned. "Haven't they caused enough trouble?"

"Shame on you, Fujimoto!" Ebisu wagged a round finger at the wizard. "Humans are a natural force in the balance of nature."

"A destructive force polluting the seas can hardly be contributing to nature's balance. Just think of how much richer the sea would be were we to induce another Cambrian age and wipe those loathsome creatures from existence."

"Now, now, who would keep the fish population in check and balance? Who would enjoy the pleasures of fishing? Who would we watch over?"

"I watch over the sea," sniffed Fujimoto. "Humans can only mean trouble and I refuse to have anything to do with them."

"Ah," said Ebisu slowly. "Still bitter about your own experiences-"

"I do not wish to discuss this, Ebisu," snapped Fujimoto. "We have work to do." And stumbling over his long legs across the swarm of crabs and crayfish on deck, the wizard headed into the cabin of his boat.

"What would she say if you let an innocent human drown right under your nose?" Ebisu called after him with a light chuckle, and, swept up in his current of jellyfish and sea bass, swam up to the surface.

Fujimoto froze at the fat fisherman god's words. Standing stock still, hair swaying around him, the wizard grimaced and let out a sigh of defeat, glaring up to the surface, pierced unevenly by bright shafts of sunlight. A figure was being tossed roughly about in the commotion his waves had created as they put out the fires.

"I am not a lifeguard," he said crossly, making a sharp gesture.

Nothing happened.

"What?" muttered the wizard, bemused, and flicked his hand forcefully, splaying thin fingers.

Dark rolling waves encased the human.

"That's better."

Morgan had stopped struggling when what felt like a phenomenal rip current had grabbed hold of her, pressure mounting as she was dragged deep into the sea. _This is the end_, she thought dazedly, _the great Morgan Winters has walked the plank. _The pressure and lack of oxygen were too much, and water flooded her burning lungs, blackness clouding her vision. _Suffocation. Peachy way to die_.

Except, hovering just beyond the edge of consciousness, lungs aching immeasurably and head spinning, she saw a fiery orange blur above.

Fujimoto glared at the blue-tinged human lying on his boat. _Dying_ on his boat. He knelt down, sensing the urgency of the situation.

"This is bad… What is wrong with you?" he muttered, and then his frown melted. "Ah, right, fragile things you are."

He waved a long hand and water gushed out from Morgan's mouth. She coughed, spraying the wizard generously, and opened unseeing pale green eyes to hack and wheeze out the rest of the water, flipping onto her stomach and retching convulsively. Fujimoto watched with a frown as his resident human crawled on all fours, threw up violently, and fought to catch her breath.

"Humans," he concluded decisively, and to no one in particular, "are disgusting."

. . .

After expelling the water from her lungs, Morgan had collapsed onto what she guessed was the deck of a boat, vision fading completely. When she next opened her eyes, it was to a strange sight indeed.

She was inside the cabin of a boat, or rather, a submarine. The floor and sparse furniture were strewn with papers and scrolls, bookshelves, and an old-fashioned rudder behind wide windows. In a corner rested a large, dark cauldron amidst a pile of empty long-necked bottles and ornate droppers. More of these lined the shelved walls.

_Is this one of those submarine meth-labs?_ Morgan shook her head, throat dry. She was confused. She was drowsy. But most pressingly, she was thirsty.

So Morgan walked over to the wall and grabbed a drink, heedlessly downing half the bottle. The liquid was cool and refreshing, and left a sharply charged, tingling aftertaste.

Morgan brought the bottle away from her mouth with a contented sigh, green liquid still beading her lips, and somewhat more cautiously edged open the door of the cabin. She stepped outside.

And straight into exactly the sort of mystical nonsense she fervently denied.

"I am in way over my head," Morgan muttered, staring at the luminous enclosure around the boat that allowed her and the wizard to breathe. They were very deep underwater, judging by how faintly the sunlight penetrated the blue sea, and aside from the cornucopia of marine flora and fauna, swelling and pulsing in the currents of the vast seascape, Morgan could see the ocean breathing. A bright glow enveloped the bubble and microscopic organisms streamed through the water, growing before her eyes.

_Wait. Breathing_?

Morgan swiped at her eyes. The waves seemed to be blinking, too, occasionally. Perhaps it wasn't the ocean, but the reflection of some bright mixture Fujimoto was pouring directly off the nose of his cruiser into the ocean.

"Ah, I see you're still alive," he said, stowing away his instruments, "…good."

"Did I-?" Morgan broke off. "Did you-? Are we…"

"Articulate yourself," Fujimoto instructed, sighing. Morgan sensed a distinctly platonic and long-suffering, paternal air about him. Compared to his dismissive coldness, this was positively comforting.

"Bear with me a moment," said Morgan, repressing her panic. "Who are you?"

"I told you."

"Yeah, okay, um… _what_ are you?"

"I am working," Fujimoto said, making to turn around as though Morgan's interrogation was closed. "Working to restore balance of nature - something clearly far beyond the comprehension of humans." He managed to sound both grim and smug.

"Stop being petulant, I can see that you're human! And kindly stop eluding my questions!"

Fujimoto stumbled in surprise and swiftly rounded back on Morgan, looking unsettled.

"What could possibly give you the impression that I'm human?" he asked disbelievingly.

"Your arrogance, for one," snapped Morgan, taking an involuntary step back when she saw Fujimoto bristling. "Very human trait. Also the fact that I'm alive, which means you must have saved me. And only humans are so adept at sulking after doing something altruistic."

Fujimoto opened and closed his mouth, looking distinctly fish-like as he gaped for a reply. Morgan might have been terrified if she did not find the expression so funny.

Finally, he said, defensively, "I do not _sulk_."

"Right," Morgan gave a sly grin, despite the nausea she was feeling watching jellyfish swarm high above from the corner of her eye. "But you are human."

"I have not been human now for a very long time. And I hardly see why that matters. Be grateful I saved you and leave me be."

"Sulking," mumbled Morgan. "Sulking in your submarine."

"I am what you would call a sorcerer of the ocean, and you are the first and last human aboard my submersible yacht," Fujimoto corrected somewhat haughtily.

He seemed pleased when Morgan was the one making disbelieving faces.

"A wizard on a yacht?"

But instead of gloating or returning to tend to the ocean, Fujimoto frowned suddenly and without any explanation began to wave his hands frantically about in the universal signal for stop, eyes widening at something behind Morgan.

"Ebisu! You are not bringing a current in so soon! You'll sweep away all the algae!"

Morgan glanced, bemused, at the wizard who was dancing anxiously from foot to foot, distress written across his face, brilliant red hair swaying to and fro. And then a melodious, ethereal laugh seemed to echo through the water.

Morgan covered her face with her hands as a powerful current wound around their underwater refuge, peeking through her fingers to see Fujimoto glance around with a strange expression on his face. The deep blue eyes lightened from within the cerulean powder, the gaunt cheekbones suddenly appeared healthier, and certain lines smoothed away.

"Don't fear for your work, my dear. I've sent Ebisu to the coast."

The voice was soft and paradoxically powerful, resonating with a strange sadness and swelling with joy at the same time.

"_Granmammare_."

Morgan finally placed the unfamiliar expression. Fujimoto looked pleased. His usually reserved expression melted to awe and an almost buoyant longing.

"You have been overwhelmed here, I see."

"It's been so long!" exclaimed Fujimoto earnestly, approaching the very edge of the bubble and crouching onto one knee. He seemed to collect himself then. "I did not expect to see you in such grim circumstances."

"It was the mess I came to help you with, although I have wanted to see you for a long time now. My seas have been teeming with life but also with hazards and oil."

"Indeed. The cursed humans have clogged and destroyed every living creature with their filth, and I cannot keep up with them."

"Do not despair."

There was such warmth in the words that curiosity won out and Morgan peeked through her hands.

A vast and stunning woman hovered next to the cruiser. Her gown was pale sky-blue, her hair the deep red shade of coral and longer even than the wizard's. Unlike Fujimoto's colder blue ones, however, her eyes were deep and warm and kind, brown rimmed with pink. Bejeweled and glowing, Morgan could not deny this was a divine creature. The very serenity she emanated settled Morgan's fright, though Fujimoto still looked frazzled about the edges.

"How can I when the entire ocean is out of balance? Every day I feel as though my power wanes and falters against further corruption of nature's equilibrium…"

Granmammare cocked her head, an expression of concern flitting across her features.

"So you have noticed it too," she said sadly. "So many living things have been dying, and you have been overexerting yourself to compensate. No wonder your magic is so drained."

"Why don't we give them a storm to remember?" offered Fujimoto, a cunning undertone coloring his words. "A tsunami to purge all that garbage from our seas and sweep clean the land?"

Granmammare shook her head.

"That would be a crude and unnecessary gesture. There is a much easier and more natural approach that I'm afraid I must ask of you."

"What can I do?"

"Don't fear, my love," said Granmammare, "You may yet learn to love the humanity you have left."

"I don't see how-"

"Fujimoto, isn't it time you found peace with your past? You don't seem to realize your danger, my love."

"What danger? Hey!" the wizard turned on Morgan and snatched away the elaborate bottle she had picked up. "_Don't_ drink that! Don't you know not to drink unidentified substances in peculiarly-shaped vessels?"

"It's delicious," protested Morgan.

"There's a saying about stealing a wizard's potions-" Fujimoto began, bring up an authoritative finger waggishly.

"How rude I've been! Please introduce me to your guest."

Granmammare had noticed the human for the first time. She smiled graciously at Morgan.

"A human I found, far out of her depth." Morgan recognized the taunt despite the neutral tone. "But she attempted to help me," Fujimoto admitted.

"You're a-" Morgan gulped. "a sea goddess, aren't you?"

"Let me thank you, Morgan, for aiding my husband," Granmammare said warmly.

"Well, he seems to have returned the favor," said Morgan. "Any chance I can get another sip of that heavenly draft?"

"You actually _drank_ the elixir?" Fujimoto asked, eyes wide and astonished.

"Hey, hey, you drank half my sake," said Morgan defensively.

Granmammare laughed lightly.

"But how are you still alive? Humans cannot handle the power of my elixirs!"

"Don't you see my love? Your power is indeed waning if your potions have lost their potency and you could enjoy human drink."

Fujimoto seemed to be making this deduction himself, as he paled and brought his hands to clutch his hair in distress, rising to stand in his panic. Thin white fingers became quickly entangled in fiery tresses.

"What going to happen to him? And to me?" asked Morgan of the red-headed beings she previously thought didn't exist.

"Don't fear for you safety," said Granmammare, and to illustrate her point wound a pale, glowing hand through their luminous bubble-enclosure and around the distraught wizard, cradling him in a gentle grasp. Fujimoto seemed to deflate; his hair and posture relaxed as he closed his eyes and basked in his wife's presence, although his deep frown remained.

"You've been stretching yourself thin for years, and now it's finally caught up with you."

"How can that be? And what about the sea?" Fujimoto murmured from the corner of his mouth, unwilling to open his eyes and face his predicament.

"The balance of nature is being upheld by vestigial magic, and by my will, love."

"So this is the end? The sea is doomed? I'm reverting to…" he gave a faint twitch of revulsion, "a human?"

"Hardly so," smiled Granmammare. "You just need to spend some time away to recuperate and restore your magic naturally. With your presence on land, the sea's balance would be restored as well. Of course you're now in danger of drowning, so perhaps take a shore leave might do you well."

She drew back her hand and nodded gracefully to Morgan.

"Would you look after my husband, Morgan? I cannot follow him upon land, but I have seen how you gaze for hours into the ocean from afar, and I know I can trust you to watch over him."

"I.. yes, of course," Morgan managed.

Fujimoto glanced curiously between the two women, wide eyes uncertain.

"Will you be capable of undertaking this task, darling? It is much to ask of you, and the return of your magic will be gradual, but this way the sea will have time to heal."

Fujimoto straightened somberly. "I am willing to do whatever is necessary to save the ocean, even if it involves being temporarily…" he swallowed, "human."

Granmammare's brown eyes softened as she gazed unto Fujimoto's lithe figure, and Morgan suddenly felt gooseflesh pass over her with a sharp bout of chills, as if for a moment she could feel the acute connection that existed between the two unlikely beings.

And before her eyes Granmammare walked onto the boat, human-sized, haloed by the deep red of her hair and fluttering blue gown, and encased Fujimoto in a briefly tender embrace.

And then she was back outside the bubble, luminescent and large and smiling sadly and swimming away while a wistful look lingered on her husband's face.

As her final farewell, the ocean goddess raised a hand to her lips and blew a kiss back to the boat, and swirling sparks of gold fish streamed through the water. Glowing brightly they encased the submersible yacht, magically engorged and swollen with unearthly vivacity, and swept the entire boat up in a torrent of gold and blindingly bright scales.

They broke the surface of the water innocuously, Fujimoto's bubble dissolving, and bobbed up and down a few times upon the serene surf. The stars were bright and reflecting hazily beneath them.

"Hey, Fuji-" said Morgan suddenly, perturbed. The wizard, though perhaps he no longer was entirely such, had not moved after his wife's farewell.

Now he cast a bleak gaze onto Morgan, and the dark cliffs where the village glimmered faintly. "Yes?"

"Where's the lighthouse?"

The two humans stood in bewildered silence, staring hard to find a light that wasn't there.


	3. Soot Sprites

* * *

_A/N: I am so sorry about how long this is taking. College has completely, pardon the pun, drowned out all other pursuits. But you didn't come here to hear me complain - immersed as I am in the dreadful "real world" - and I'm finally presenting you with a mini-chapter. Next part coming soon, I hope! _

_Just saw Ponyo again today and had to breathe some life into this, it's entirely too much fun. Also, your reviews kept me going when I should have been studying... I don't know whether to thank you or... well, I thank you of course, please keep distracting me. I love all feedback - let me know where I can improve, what you liked, what you would like to see, etc. This isn't so nicely edited and cut up I'm afraid, but it's here!  
_

_Thanks for sticking with me, and sorry for the double-post (ff is giving me code errors)! _

* * *

Chapter 3

_Give it a rest, won't you ?  
Now will you just give over ?  
The world may be ending  
But look, I'm only human  
_

"Hello? We're lost! Adrift! Aren't you going to, oh, react?"

"The open sea is nothing to be afraid of, love."

Fujimoto managed to infuse the endearment with enough scathing to make his feelings clear.

They were not completely lost in the dark, nor terribly far adrift. The shore beckoned with shimmering windows of yellow light even while the lighthouse seemed to have gone out. The water, too, was not impenetrable.

There was a faint light growing from deep below the water's surface, the deep gold of the scaly fish that had accompanied their ascent. Morgan watched in wonder as the golden lighted fish assumed a winding trail, a gleaming path for them to follow to shore across the dark waves.

"They're guiding us back," exclaimed Morgan. "Next time I'll think twice about eating sushi."

Fujimoto held open the door of the cabin and Morgan followed him inside, where the beautifully carved rudder post was situated. He began to position his instruments and maneuver the rudder to steer the boat between the winding golden borders the fish had assembled into. Morgan watched with admiration, despite herself, as Fujimoto's lithe hands guided the yacht across the water with deft flicks of switches and smooth slides of various nautical mechanisms that were beyond her.

The shore drew closer, the glimmering harbor full of ships that rested and rocked hulls against each other in a dull woody rhythm. Fujimoto turned them north toward the Kaito House, where Morgan's secluded beach would serve as a natural harbor.

"The oil seems to be gone," Morgan commented, unduly optimistic. Fujimoto's grim silence was unnerving if efficient.

"Indeed." He brought the vessel over to the beach and brushed his hand over the nearly-invisible mechanism that lowered anchor and fixed the keel-like fins protruding from the yacht.

"Now to disguise her so no meddling humans interfere," Fujimoto murmured to himself, depressing a lever. "Come, human," he added over his shoulder.

"You know," Morgan began, ready to protest the hypocrisy of being addressed this way, when she noticed the rapid rise in the water level and deduced that it was perhaps better to listen to her companion. She scrambled out of the cabin and atop it, after Fujimoto, who was standing in a narrow circle of railing. The boat descended, becoming completely submerged until they were standing level with the calm surface. The shore was a few meters off, gleaming with the slick's oily residue in the moonlight.

Fujimoto raised a commanding hand and then abruptly lowered it with a frustrated hiss.

Morgan watched him take a dejected step into the water, as though expecting it to uphold his weight, which for a moment it seemed to attempt. Fujimoto had half a second to gape in astonishment before he toppled down with a clumsy splash.

Morgan leaned over with a faint smirk as he surfaced, sputtering.

"Going somewhere?"

Fujimoto's coughs sounded oddly shirty. Morgan swung over the side of the boat and followed him to shore, though her doggy-paddling was significantly slower than Fujimoto's skilled and somewhat modified butterfly stroke.

"You've got - to be - the fastest - swimmer - this side of - the pacific."

Morgan, drenched and panting, followed Fujimoto up the winding path to where the Kaito house stood. It was unusually dark, despite the moonlight. Morgan kept her porch light on and the lighthouse would cast a periodic veil of light over the shadow of the cliff, but without these comforting guides the path was treacherous.

"I've not left the water for many, many years," Fujimoto admitted. "Do you not find it dry and… exposing, to be on land and at the whim of the storms and capricious spirits?"

"Well, until very recently I didn't believe in spirits."

"I'll add ignorance to the ever-growing list of human faults."

Was that a note of irony in Fujimoto's voice?

"It wasn't ignorance so much as denial," Morgan said wryly. "The village folk are anything but ignorant."

Fujimoto gave a disbelieving hum of assent, which was cut off when he slipped on a treacherous patch of pebbles and caught himself an instant before careening back down the steep path.

"This is usually much better illuminated," said Morgan, as they rounded the bend in the path that would bring them to the back door, "And quite beautiful, too. I'll just make you some tea and introduce you to some good music over supper-"

She fell silent.

There were flecks of lilac-colored window-panes leading up the path. Past the cliff, splinters of wooden boards and bronzed shingles lay strewn across the grass. A twinkling of glass shards caught the moonlight with a silvery-white glimmer. Steam and remnants of smoke curled over the lawn, searing the grass and the blackened wood and dusting the entire scene with a fine powder of acrid-smelling ash.

"I… oh." Morgan's voice was several pitches higher than normal. Blanched by moonlight, she advanced across the ruins as though sleepwalking.

Certain portions of the wall were intact, others melted away and others yet scattered. The frame creaked, standing like a skeletal effigy of the cozy, peaceful haven it had once been.

The Kaito house was a wreck.

Morgan bent down mechanically and grasped a handful of soot along with a keychain in the empty doorway. She glanced absently about the interior, which looked to be beyond salvage.

"This is bad…"

Morgan nodded mutely, standing alone in the doorway. A thick silence stretched, overpowering the humming ocean below.

Fujimoto's wide eyes wandered from the wreck to its owner and back.

He bit his lip.

He frowned.

Tentatively, he raised a slender hand and placed it on Morgan's shoulder.

The silence thinned, lightly, and was overwhelmed by the soothing swells of the ocean. A very faint greyness began to appear over the water, wearing away at the night.

Morgan didn't remember standing for hours in shock, but she could recall the moment she unclenched her hand from around the keys, and found the compressed ball of soot blinking up at her. She remembered because she jumped, and the comforting weight left her shoulder.

"Argh! What the hell is that?" she exclaimed hoarsely, staring at her outstretched hand.

"_Susuwatari_," said Fujimoto with the shadow of a fond smile. "Soot sprites that occupy abandoned houses."

He leaned over her shoulder for a closer look, though how he could see anything past the hair in his face was Morgan's guess.

"Hmmm, the residual magic in my elixirs must have transferred to you, and is now escaping. That's how you managed to compress one into existence," Fujimoto theorized aloud.

"I have magic?"

"Don't sound so skeptical," chided the former-wizard. "And I assure you, it'll be gone before long."

"Well, you're right about the abandoned houses part, at least," said Morgan darkly, though she immediately let out a giggle because the Susuwatari in her hand had sprouted long appendages and crawled across her palm to disappear in a dark corner. Fujimoto shot her another of his enigmatic sidelong glances.

"Come on, my dear wizard, we'd better get to town and find a place to stay. I don't seem to be taking very good care of you," Morgan grimaced, wryly resigned. "That is if my car hasn't been sabotaged."

Morgan marched past Fujimoto, who seemed surprised at her change of attitude, and began to heave away the long wood board that had created a fair dent in the front hood of the little green Prius. A side-mirror had been snapped cleanly off and a crack ran along the rear windshield, but the car appeared otherwise unharmed.

"Perhaps I should have hidden my yacht better," remarked Fujimoto, upon approaching. He watched Morgan groan and grumble and mope as she released her car from beneath the wreckage.

"Get in, go ahead," Morgan coaxed, flinging open the passenger-side door from inside of the car. Fujimoto seemed hesitant to follow her advice, however. With some bemusement, Morgan noticed how his pale skin was covered with a thin sheen of sweat, wide blue eyes looking almost pained.

"Nothing to be afraid of, love," she echoed playfully, and the former-wizard edged in, folding his long legs in the compact vehicle. "You feeling okay there?"

"Land-sick, I think," said Fujimoto hoarsely, a queasy look passing over his features.

"You need food," Morgan diagnosed and, sliding open the windows to the salty sea breeze, they accelerated.

. . .

Hana's house was in a better state than the Kaito House, but only slightly. Morgan didn't bother pulling up the winding driveway to the now-derelict cottage. They drove down the cliffs and south, past wreckage over the road and around mounds of garbage that was melted beyond recognition.

"This your work?" asked Morgan, swerving. Plastic and metal gleamed from the dirt.

"Granmammare must have thrown it ashore," said Fujimoto through clenched teeth.

"But someone set fire to the houses north of here, including Kaito," Morgan insisted, "And I think I know the culprit. If only I could-"

"Watch out!"

Morgan hit the brakes and the car screeched to a halt.


	4. Talismans over Tea

_A/N: And, upon prompting, here's another chapter. Less action, I apologize. But we get to torment our dear whiz, which is always a pleasure. _

_I've worked out a skeleton of an outline, but it'll be a few more chapters at least before I am certain where I am going and how exactly to proceed. And, oh, I never intended… actually I always intended for a hint of romance, but it was going to be fairly one-sided. Right now, though, I'm tempted to explore that… what do you think? _

_I'm conflicted, because I really like Granmammare in contrast to Fujimoto, but he's an amazing character in that I believe he's a stunning contrast to pretty much anyone. So… let me know if anyone's out there, if you would tolerate/like/dislike somewhat of a development in that direction, 'cause I yield to your expertise and knowledge of the characters._

_Next update- will take longer. Fall break in two weeks, two days off, and I'm swamped in papers, so if not soon, then in a fortnight._

_Onwards!_

_

* * *

  
_

Chapter 4

_I am the son  
and the heir  
of a shyness that is criminally vulgar  
I am the son and heir  
of nothing in particular_

The old lady in the moss-green raincoat had thrown her arms about her head. This was somewhat comical, as a tea kettle was dangling from one of her arms, and the other held a ruined umbrella.

"Speak of the devil…" Morgan released a tense sigh. "Obaa-chama!"

Hana looked up and her alarm melted into relief. "Morgan-chan! You're alive!" she clucked and cluttered over with the swinging kettle clanking madly off her arm. Morgan opened her door and sprung out to give the old lady a reassuring hug.

"I'm so sorry, Hana, I didn't see you. Is that all you could salvage?"

"It's all I am going to carry down on my own."

"Do you need a place to stay? As soon as I drop Fujimoto off I could help get some of your things-"

"No, no, no," Hana bristled, ignoring Morgan's offers. "None of that. I'm staying over my nephew's bakery, and so are you. I thought you had burned with the Kaito House! My dear child now do you see the dangers of harboring a wizard?"

Fujimoto glanced with open curiosity between the old lady and Morgan, who was frowning.

"Hana, I couldn't impose. Besides, I'm looking after someone and-"

"Bring them along!" Hana exclaimed flippantly. "Take-! Oh!" Her wrinkled face had finally turned toward Fujimoto. "What happened to him?" She took Morgan by the shoulders, suddenly severe. "What did you do to yourself?"

"Nothing, nothing," Morgan brushed off the old lady. "Please, Hana, let's get to the village and take care of things."

But the entire ride, Hana did not cease her questions from the backseat. And while Morgan was impatient and claimed to concentrate on driving, Fujimoto was left to skillfully elude concrete answers. Hana was remarkably perceptive.

In the ten minute drive down to the village, where the narrow three-storied houses lined the harbor and the ships swayed against each other with gathered sails and empty steampipes, Hana had deduced much of their predicament and chatted up the reluctant Fujimoto.

"So you could speak to your house-cleaning spirits for me?"

"I do not converse with others outside my realm of the ocean," Fujimoto said with a sidewise glance at Morgan. "And spirits are not really very social. Unless you coax them into a bathhouse… but I wouldn't know much about that."

"A bathhouse sounds wonderful, but can we get some food first?" said Morgan, parking sharply and throwing open her door.

The bakery was a narrow house with a sign and a window display lusciously wafting the rich aroma of freshly-baked bread. Baguettes and bagels and muffins all stood in the display. Behind the counter, a young and plump man in a white apron rushed over as they entered to the tinkling of a bell.

"Oh, Hana-san, you're alright! We were so worried! I've got the rooms upstairs all ready for you."

"Makoto, calm down."

"Sorry, sorry. Oh, Morgan!" Makoto seemed surprised to see the writer. "What are you doing down here?"

"Morgan's going to stay here with her friend so be accommodating, my boy," Hana said sternly. Makoto smiled nervously and ushered them to a table.

Over baguettes and steaming green tea (Hana refused to use another kettle), they discussed their living arrangements.

"And there are extra rooms upstairs you can stay in until you get back on your feet," Makoto was saying. "We all saw the smoke coming from the North and knew the oil must have spread the fire to the bamboo forests."

"Don't be daft," said Hana.

"It was arson," Fujimoto said grimly.

"That's right," Hana nodded sagely and brought the steaming tea to her lips. "Brought down upon us… I warned you-"

"Yes, yes, let's discuss this later," said Morgan hastily, watching with concern as Fujimoto nibbled his bread.

"Have I done something wrong?" Fujimoto asked cautiously, noticing the stares directed at him. Makoto looked amazed at the stranger's bizarrely sartorial appearance, Hana looked disapproving, and Morgan was staring uneasily between them.

"I think I'm going to take you upstairs," Morgan said abruptly, earning several odd looks. She only flushed when Fujimoto arched an eyebrow. "Don't you start," and she rose and led the way over to the staircase. The former wizard followed her at a more staggering pace. By the top of the staircase he was panting. By the time he passed through the bangles at the doorway of one of the rooms, divided by thin paper screens where stood a low bed and leafy potted plants, he was sweating and leaning on the doorframe.

"You've really got it bad, huh? What is this, magic withdrawal?"

"I don't know what you're-" Fujimoto interrupted himself a moment, crossing his arms and looking nauseous, "-talking about."

Morgan scowled. "If you feel ill I need to know. Please call me if you get worse. I'll be next door – there's some business I've got to take care of. Do you need anything?"

"No, thank you," he said wearily. By now Morgan could tell it was reticence and not irritation coloring his voice.

She had paused in the doorway and turned back. Fujimoto, in his bright and vivid colors, looked miserably out of place in the ordinary and bland surroundings. He had shrugged off the oversized striped jacket and folded it tenderly, but the gleaming gold earrings and bright blue and pink pastel shades on his face made him appear oddly mystical in the waxing daylight that was flooding the window with faint grey-yellow.

And then abruptly, Fujimoto doubled over in pain.

"What is it? What's wrong? Oh," Morgan was at his side in a heartbeat.

Fujimoto actually flashed a pained smile between grimacing in pain. "I… I don't-I-oh," he gasped and crouched in onto himself, sinking to his knees. He had wrapped his arms around himself and shut his eyes between fits of involuntary shivering that wracked his lean frame.

"Hana! No, oh no, what's wrong, what's wrong? Fujimoto, please, stay with me! Fuji…"

Morgan knelt down next to the former wizard, placing a hand on each shoulder, still muttering hysterically. Fujimoto, pale and wide-eyed, swayed in her grip but rose with Morgan and stumbled clumsily over to the bed before collapsing, half-conscious and tremulous.

"Don't panic," Hana instructed from the doorway. Morgan glanced round with scared eyes. "He's going to be fine," said Hana, softening her tone. "Come, you'll help me make some tea."

"I don't want to leave-"

"Very well," the old woman sighed with a fondly amused look at Morgan, withdrawing a bag of herbs from a back pocket and a grinding stone from the nearby cabinet.

Wordlessly, Morgan took the instrument and began to rhythmically grind the dry leaves. A soothing aroma engulfed the room, Hana busying herself with her kettle at the iron boiler.

"How do you know-" Morgan began abruptly.

"I'm old," Hana said knowingly, "I've never encountered spirits quite so closely before, but I'm not blind. His magic has left him but no spirit can be human."

"He told me he used to be a human, and that he's a wizard."

"A human become a wizard? Well, I never…"

"But will he be okay? It looks like decompression sickness, or-"

"He'll be fine. He's adapting to the loss of magic and the new environment, that's all. Doesn't like change, like a fish out of water. I'm more concerned about you, Morgan-chan."

"The Kaito House is gone…" Morgan kept her pale green eyes lowered. "But I won't let them get away with this."

"It's your association with the wizard. Who do you think brought the fire on? Spirits incite disaster and chaos, storms and floods-"

"Surely you don't expect me to toss him into the ocean?" Morgan gave a short, sardonic laugh.

"Much too late for that now," Hana conceded, tipping the water back at it began to steam.

"And I know who brought the fire on – Monsanto. Don't blame Fujimoto, he was with me the entire time. And he's not leaving until the _balance_ is restored, whatever that means. The ocean goddess said so…" Morgan frowned beneath Hana's disapproving look. "I've been reeled into this business, hook, line, and sinker. There's no point denying the truth now."

Hana shook her head, as Morgan rose to sprinkle the tea leaves into the boiling water. The tea hissed and darkened immediately, perfuming the room further. Hana dug deep into her pocket, withdrawing more sacks of herbs and wooden spoons, and finally a round pendant on a chain.

She offered Morgan the bronze necklace.

"It's a talisman to protect you. Don't take it off. It will help you keep your wits."

Morgan examined the talisman curiously but did as she was told.

"Now you're protected, at least," Hana sniffed, pouring the tea.

"I think humans present a much greater danger than spirits… Fujimoto and his goddess wife saved my life and returned me to shore. It was Katashi who nearly drowned me and I'm sure he burned down the Kaito House. Sometimes I could just – oh!"

Morgan had clenched her fists around the hot tea cup in anger. She brought her burnt palms to her elbows and grimaced.

"How Monsanto got license to operate down in the village I'll never know," Hana shook her head.

"But that's it," Morgan concluded softly, "That's just it, they must have forged the licenses. If I could get my hands on them…"

She took Hana's proffered moist towel and placed it carefully over Fujimoto's forehead. Or, rather, attempted to.

"Confound all this hair," Morgan muttered darkly, sifting carefully through the fiery strands, "How do you keep it so soft in salt water? And with all the tailored clothes you'd think a visit to the barber would be in order…" But despite her gruff comments she was exceedingly gentle in her ministrations. "Finally getting all that makeup off your face," she said triumphantly.

Hana observed with a curious expression.

"He's quite young," she remarked. Morgan had leveraged Fujimoto up on the pillows and was now attempting to give him the tea, with limited success. "Perhaps I gave you that talisman too late."

"What are you talking about, Hana-san?"

"You've already been enchanted and bewitched."

"Really? How cliché," Morgan scoffed, setting the cup back down. Now it was her who seemed nearer to blushing. "If anything was bewitching it was the presence of _Granmammare_ herself. Never thought I'd encounter a goddess!"

"Ah, how deft with words you are, changing the subject. But the relationships between spirits are a curious matter," Hana was actually grinning at Morgan. "What did she say to you?"

"A whole lot of waffle about keeping nature in balance, Fujimoto losing his magic, more waffle… and she charged me with taking care of her husband, which I seem to be abysmal at—oh, what? Are you laughing?"

"No, no," Hana managed between chuckles. "Sounds like she wanted her husband to take a vacation, that's all. But surely you're not so slow? You realize a powerful wizard like him wouldn't need any help on land."

"I-I don't know," Morgan admitted. "That surprised me too. But he's taken ill…"

"It's because she want to give him a break, a distraction," Hana was still grinning cheekily and this struck Morgan as extremely strange.

"I really don't think-"

"You're the distraction."

Morgan swallowed, speechless for once, and glanced down at the sleeping man. He looked serene and tired, and oddly vulnerable.

"Well, then, I'll just have to provide a vacation," said Morgan resolutely, "But I really need to contact my insurance, my publishers, and a few acquaintances," she ran a hand through her hair, and sniffed at the dusty residue.

"Well, go on then," Hana prompted. With a sharp glance between Fujimoto and Hana, Morgan padded off.

"Now you stay there and don't even think of getting up," Hana said aloud, before sliding a screen shut. "We'll have words when you're feeling up to it."

In the relative shade of the room, a sliver of a blue eye drifted closed beneath dark lashes.

. . .


	5. Plans over Pastries

_A/N: I apologize deeply and profoundly for the delay. It's, I concede, ridiculous. I don't know if any of you are still here, but I will finish this – we are 1-2 chapters from the end. I am as always incredibly grateful for your reviews and support, even though I hardly merit such with these updates._

_I wish you all a happy, happy 2010, and a better decade to come. I myself am leaving for the Caribbean in two days. The sea always inspires me (surprise surprise) so we'll see if anything gets written before the start of second semester the 12th._

_Also -- my revisions, they are becoming nonexistent in my haste to actually post something up. I know, and I'm sorry. I do heed your advice, I hope you'll notice, between having my fun. Hope to introduce more Miyazaki-elements in later chapters as well._

_But as ever, onwards!_

_-  
_

Chapter 5

_Upon the sand, upon the bay  
"There is a quick and easy way" you say  
_

The morning wind lashed the waves, ripping foam from the crests and flinging white bubbles across deep torrents. Morgan tucked her cell phone into her jeans and glared across the turbulent ocean, a thin, tattered tome of Eastern myths tucked beneath her arm. She had borrowed it from Hana, who believed every word.

Morgan was perched on the end of the fishing pier, lashed by sea-spray until the too-big shirt lent to her by Makoto was saturated with the briny scent and flapping with moisture.

"Come on out, you _Isohime_,and talk to me!" Morgan growled in frustration out upon the waves. A fishing trawler was crawling around the harbor, churning up murky water and debris in a mess of filthy oil residue. It bent around the harbor and out of sight, rocked dangerously by the tumultuous waves.

"Come out!"

There was a commotion in the water then, and a whirlpool formed from which sprung several sea bass and then the bearded, black-hatted head of the plump Ebisu. He looked unamused, for once.

"Don't address the sea goddess so disrespectfully, human!" Ebisu whispered, "Can you not see, she's stirring up the currents?"

"Oh? And what if I need her help to proceed with a plan, namely to approach Monsanto's headquarters up North from the sea?"

Ebisu frowned at Morgan's mocking tone, then gave a hearty, mercurial laugh.

"I'm glad I convinced Fujimoto to save you, human! You've worked out a lot… by _Umi Bozu_'s haunted ship…"

"What do you mean by that?" Morgan slouched forward, fingering the bronze talisman around her neck distractedly and glaring down at Ebisu from her seat upon the end of the pier.

"This sudden interest in lore might be beneficial… Perhaps-hmm," said Ebisu, grin still tugging at his bearded mouth, "-perhaps I can help you there."

"What's your angle?"

"An angler's angle," Ebisu said drily. "I am a fisherman's friend. Corporations have done much to disturb the traditional order between fishermen and the sea, not just the precious balance of nature."

"So you can get me around their entrance undetected?"

"Surely Fujimoto could manage that himself," Ebisu probed.

"I'm not taking him. There's no need to risk dragging him into this, especially when his condition is so… delicate."

Morgan scowled when Ebisu burst into another bout of uncontained chuckling.

"…so precious… Ahaha, a human…. Haha! Protecting a sorcerer, oh… hohoha!"

"I'll find the forged licenses if you help me there and back – tonight. Do we have a deal?"

Ebisu nodded, panting from laughter. "I'll bring you one way, human, because I pass by those canals myself… but you'll be getting out on your own."

Morgan met the beady gaze of the god and nodded.

- - - -

The drive up to the ruins of the _Kaito House_ was longer than usual. Morgan screeched to a halt a safe distance away and padded around the glass on foot. The ruins looked as desolate as ever in daylight, but the foundation and frame of the house seemed secure enough to hold the sagging walls. Hesitantly tracking across wooden splinters and half-burnt pages, sneakers crackling over shards, Morgan steeled herself and turned the doorknob, which promptly fell into her hand. Unlike when she had stood at the back doorway that morning, the front door was mostly intact.

"Right, stop drawing it out," she grumbled under her breath, and shoved her shoulder against the door, which creaked in protest as it yielded. She eyed the narrow opening and briskly, before she could change her mind, squeezed sidewise inside.

It was dim and smoky. The pleasantly tangy smell of seawater had begun to go stale, and the acrid stench of charred wood and plastic pervaded the house. Sunlight streamed in through the windows and gaps in the wall, illuminating furniture, paintings, and the mess of frying pans, burnt books and knick-knacks on the soggy carpet. The damage to the interior was surprisingly minimal, and Morgan gasped in relief when she caught sight of her bookshelves, where most of her books stood dry and intact below the ceiling. The backroom, which she had glimpsed before, had been damaged beyond repair, but now in daylight she could see that the other rooms were much better preserved.

Gingerly she padded over past her ruined television and inspected the kitchen, delighted to discover that she had running water. When she tried the gas she heard a groan of metal and a halting hiss and immediately switched it off. Morgan didn't bother to check her electricity.

Much of the day Morgan spent among the ashes, scavenging clothes and books and hoarding them away into the undamaged portions of the house, sweeping out ash and carting out her broken television along with fragments of wood and debris and the stray _Susuwatari_. Stretching her sore back, Morgan reflected that her wreck of a house was not entirely beyond repair – but major work would have to be done.

From the outside she could see that most of the damage had been done by the explosion of her propane tank – bits of roof and gaps in the walls were the worst on that side the Kaito House, and the force had blown parts of the wall through. Inside it still felt like home, but from the outside it was almost painful to look at, the formerly quaint, lilac little house reduced to a charred and lopsided mess.

An advance on a new novel, Morgan mused, could cover such expenses. But it would take time, money, and work. The Monsanto factory, as if gloating, belched dark smoke across an otherwise picturesque seascape. It was a depressing line of thought. Shaking her head, Morgan packed some clothes and her broken laptop and headed back into the village. Her insurance company and publishers both received brusque messages over the drive back to the village docks.

It took some persuasion and not a few hundred yen for Morgan to convince a local fisherman's son to let her commandeer a boat for the night. By the time she had returned to the bakery to check on its occupants, the sun was setting into plumes of brilliantly purple and orange cloud on the horizon, casting a long trail of dappled gold across the water. It reminded Morgan of the gleaming gold fish.

"How's he been?" she asked furtively, slicing the turnips into the simmering pot and yawning. Hana was chopping carrots with immense speed, tipping the cutting board expertly next to her. The kitchen smelled of ginger.

"Wandered down here and looked a bit ill when he saw Makoto cooking meat pies. I put him to work and he's much better."

"Put him to work?" The knife slipped and Morgan hissed and brought her finger to her mouth. "That's just peachy! He's supposed to be resting!"

"Oh, I think it's doing him wonders," said Hana breezily. "Why don't you take a look?" She waved a carrot at the door to the baking room.

Suspiciously, Morgan cracked open the door and peered in.

There was a smog of flour and heat and the warm, comforting aroma of baking bread. The ovens were blazing, and the plump figure of Makoto was bending over, holding open the grate for Fujimoto, who was also doubled over, withdrawing a tray of pastries.

The wizard was almost unrecognizable – his face was dusted with flour and flushed with the warmth of the room, his shirtsleeves rolled up to the elbows, revealing wiry and flour-spotted forearms. The white apron accented his narrow waist markedly next to the wide and smiling Makoto, who was nodding approvingly. Wild tendrils of red hair floated about his head still, but most were tied back in a messy bundle at the back of his neck, revealing his glimmering gold earrings. But most remarkable was the sparkle in Fujimoto's blue eyes, and the faint upturn tugging the corners of thin lips as he handed the baker a ready tray through the wafting steam.

"He seems much better today," said Hana, watching Morgan's surprised expression.

"As long as you don't overwork him," Morgan conceded, feeling both taken aback and disgruntled. "I'm going to sleep a few hours after dinner and then I've some errands to run. I'd like for you to continue to keep an eye of Fujimoto while I'm gone."

"Soup's ready!" Hana suddenly exclaimed.

"Hana, I'm serious, could you-"

"Everyone to dinner!" Hana interrupted her, waving around her laddle and spraying them both with warm droplets of soup. "Come on, boys, you'll get your next batch tomorrow. Time to eat!"

Morgan sighed and slouched dejectedly into a chair, watching Fujimoto follow Makoto into the room with steaming rolls and Hana running about to serve everyone, clucking like a hen.

"How're you feeling?" Morgan asked, over a heaping spoon of soup.

Fujimoto twirled his chopsticks expertly but didn't comment on the matter. Instead, he said, "Much better, thank you Morgan," sounding somehow meek. "I hope I did not cause any trouble."

"Nonsense, you've worked off you stay now," said Hana, ladling more soup. "Now eat up."

"I was thinking," said Morgan, picking at her rice, "of going 'round town tomorrow, showing some sights and the like."

"An excellent idea," said Makoto warmly, "My sister lives in town and she's been inviting us all summer. She just bought a house with her husband, and she's wanted to show us for months."

"Maybe you can start looking for a new house, too," suggested Hana.

"That will not be necessary at this time," Morgan said, quietly. "But I do have some errands to run."

"Why don't you take Fujimoto with you?" said Makoto innocently.

"Oh, I don't want to bore him. Besides, we should all get some sleep."

"Makoto, might I have a word with you?" said Hana. Makoto rose obligingly and followed the old lady into the baking room, shutting the door.

"Errands? Where are you going?" Fujimoto glanced at Morgan suspiciously.

"Back to the house, if you must know," said Morgan shortly.

"Isn't that where you spent all day?"

"I've got to document the damage for insurance."

"At night?" asked Fujimoto slyly, and Morgan shot him a dirty look.

"Come along and see for yourself, then."

"I'd rather not," Fujimoto said unexpectedly, and Morgan nearly growled.

"You seem to have made a splendid recovery," she said instead, turning to her rice with obvious restraint. Fujimoto actually smiled in response, looking amused and vaguely smug.

"Indeed. I discovered cooking sake and thought of you."

"Well I'm relieved to see you're back to your chipper self, and not sulking anymore."

Fujimoto rose from the table and walked over to the window, where the village lights and the docked ships glimmered, reflected in the harbor. With his back to Morgan, drawing aside the lace curtain he said, "Hana spoke with me this morning. She seems to believe you're going to do something foolish."

Morgan stared ahead at Fujimoto's silhouette, and a strange emotion gleamed in her eyes.

"Did you figure out why were you taken ill yesterday?"

Fujimoto remained facing the window, but his voice was soft. "I have spent… many years below the water, usually at greater depths than you could conceive. To be above sea level, for so many consecutive hours, was a drastic change in pressure. Also, I was used to relying on my magic. To be stranded here, without it… it is most unsettling."

Morgan had risen and taken several steps toward the window before she stopped abruptly.

"So it was decompression sickness, as I thought," she murmured. "You're lucky to have made such a quick recovery." Morgan paused, and gave a gruff chuckle, intonation changing, "But you said you used to be human. I don't understand."

"It's a long and tedious tale, and it is quite irrelevant," said Fujimoto. "But yes, I once was a human, and I lived by the sea."

"Be honest, were you a sailor or tailor?"

"Neither of those," Fujimoto gave a wan smirk.

"What did you do? Were you a _pirate_?"

"I kept a lighthouse," Fujimoto responded gruffly to the bait.

"A lighthouse? Isn't that a bit dull?"

"It was not my sole occupation. I was not unhappy."

"I see. What happened?"

"I… fell in love."

There was a silence. Both Morgan and Fujimoto himself seemed taken aback by this sincerity.

"With _Granmammare, _right? How did you chance to meet a sea goddess, I wonder, and win her favor?"

Fujimoto sighed deeply and Morgan felt only slightly guilty for prying. She took her now-cold tea and offered Fujimoto a cup, which he refused.

"No, I prefer water. But I do hope you're not planning to do anything stupid tonight. It would be characteristically impetuous to go off on your own."

"Then I'd do best to keep in character, wouldn't I?"

Fujimoto turned and there was something of the mystical wizard about his face, a strange presence of force in the ponderous gaze despite the bags still present beneath his eyes, drawing like a powerful current.

"Why do you insist on doing this on your own, my dear human?"

Morgan felt her traitorous breath catch in her throat. "You are such a ridiculous hypocrite," she wheezed.

Fujimoto frowned and, walking over to Morgan, placed a hand on her shoulder. "I've been honest with you, now _answer me._"

It was well that she had set her cup down, otherwise it would have spilled, cold tea-first on Fujimoto. Quashing her initial reaction, Morgan bared her teeth angrily.

"Listen up, here, Fujimoto. I don't owe you anything. I saved you first, in case you forgot. If I want revenge on Monsanto, I assure you, it's personal! I can see you have suffered at their hands, and I respect your feelings on the matter, but I'm the one looking after you, and I certainly don't need your help. I know you're used to throwing tantrums and not dealing with them, but I've just had my home destroyed…" Morgan trailed off the last sentence, losing fervor.

Beneath the bizarre patience he'd been displaying, Fujimoto looked perturbed and irritated, especially at being yelled at.

"Perhaps you're so preoccupied with your troubles that you're forgetting the sea is my home and my responsibility, Morgan," he hissed, leaning down to meet Morgan's wilting gaze with a cold glare of his own, hand steely on her shoulder. Fujimoto's icy blue eyes looked haunted, half-human and miserable beneath the frosty anger. Suddenly, Morgan couldn't bring herself to feel affronted.

"You lost your home and your identity… again."

The other, strange emotion stole across Morgan's face again, overpowering anger with a confusing mix of fear and guilt and something else. Morgan brought a hand to hover just above an un-powdered cheekbone. Her fingertips brushed a very startled Fujimoto, and then jerked back as though burned.

"I-I'm sorry. I'm so sorry! I've got to go."

Eyes wide and unsettled, Fujimoto watched the door swing shut behind the fleeing writer.

"Well, really, I asked you to be subtle and keep her here, not send her running," said Hana from the door to the kitchen where she'd been eavesdropping with Makoto. "I guess you just can't repress your natural charm to propel people in the opposite direction."

Makoto took one look at the expression upon Fujimoto's face and snickered.

"Now, now, boys," said Hana, leading the stunned Fujimoto back to the table. "We'd better get to work. We've got a heist to plan."

- - - -

-


	6. Breaking and Entering

_A/N: I do realize a month and a half isn't cool. Really, I do. One more to go I think, and perhaps, but maybe not, an epilogue. Plot's coming together a bit, finally.  
_

_God how I love your reviews. They keep me going, they do. And now if you'll excuse me, I've books to read and a paper to write, and an evil cliffhanger to leave you with - not for long though._

-

6. Breaking and Entering

_You had to sneak into my room  
'just' to read my diary  
"It was just to see, just to see"  
(All the things you knew I'd written about you...)  
Oh, so many illustrations  
Oh, but  
I'm so very sickened  
Oh, I am so sickened now_

- - -

The cool wind off the sea had dragged in heavy grey rainclouds. The stars were overcast, and the waning moon glinted brightly between swathes of grey cloud, low on the horizon. The appointed hour with Ebisu drew near. Morgan struggled to untie the motorboat she had unofficially rented, fumbling with the thick rope. The harbor was quiet save for the gentle rocking rumble of the hulls and ripple of water brushing their metal sides.

The knots came loose in fumbling fingers, and then the boat began to float away. Morgan groped for the rope, retied it clumsily, climbed inside and nearly upset the boat before she managed to regain her balance and untie the knots again. It was a powerful wind that came off the sea, and Morgan was grateful that in her rush she had grabbed a long pea coat, even if it was full of mothballs.

"Of all the ridiculous things to do…" she murmured under her breath, glancing at the open ocean. Her face was still suffused with shame. "First throw a row and then make a complete idiot of yourself. Fantastic. Oh, where is that ridiculous fisherman's spirit!"

"_Tsk, tsk. Yare, yare._ You wouldn't catch many fish at all," said a mischievous voice from beneath the boat, "No patience."

Morgan nearly capsized the boat. Sitting in the dangerously rocking boat and panting, she peered cautiously over the side. Ebisu was lolling in the water and grinning widely amidst his all but capering sea bass.

"Pleasure to see you too, my little glowering human."

"Enough pleasantries for the evening," said Morgan, "Won't you take this boat around the north of the factory? I can barely keep it aloft just sitting here and with the lighthouse still out- and mind don't splash me, I've got some equipment on me I can't get wet."

"Such haste and anxiety," Ebisu shook his head and smiled. "The world is not ending. I can see now why Fujimoto tires of humans – he is so similar to them. But come, I'll take you 'round Monsanto. It is a good thing we will accomplish, bringing them down."

"Oh, it's been a long time coming," said Morgan darkly, and Ebisu's sea bass swarmed beneath the boat, and Ebisu looked strained. "Would you like to come in the boat?" Morgan offered, but he only shook his head.

"I do not like the air, and I cannot command the waters so easily as others," he said, "But fish and living creatures of the sea hearken to me!" And merrily he laughed, and Morgan watched on awed and half-horrified as jellyfish and bass, and larger fish she could not name all surged up under the boat, swimming in a great wheel and stirring up the water like a living motor.

- - -

There was a faintly malignant, hissing intonation in the pronouncement.

"Expansion is behind schedule."

"Katashi-san?"

Katashi wheeled sharply around on the heels of his Berluti loafers, raising his eyebrows above the silver frames of his glasses. With a ragged sigh he swiped them off his face to reveal a pair of darting, dark eyes. "Look-" he gestured at the window of the conference room. It was done up in lavish curtains with long lengths of tasseled cord hanging down. Night had stolen over the coast, but the lighthouse remained unlit. "We are this close-" he held his hand before his face, fingers centimeters apart, "from losing everything. Greens flock to oil spills like farmers to our herbicides. The lighthouse might be a convenient excuse but that westerner is a _writer. _With the ridiculous rumors about our policies and our licenses already under question – and due to your incompetence - we'll be lucky to avoid charges of arson."

"But sir-" said one of the suits, "Why would anyone care what we're doing out here? No one's going to listen to some muckraking American."

"Don't be daft," Katashi glared. "Although," and for a moment he allowed himself a self-satisfied smile, "Putting out the lighthouse was ingenious of me. The fumbling authorities of the government are likely to miss the village altogether now-"

A shrill ring rose distinctively over Katashi's voice, and one of the businessmen slid open a sleek Nokia.

"Katashi-san, it's corporate headquarters," he whispered after a moment.

"Get out."

The suits filed from the conference room, handing over the phone.

"Hachiro," said a sly, feminine voice, and Katashi's lips tugged upward. "What _have_ you been up to? You never stop by anymore," pouting. Then, in a whisper, "He's not happy. I've been getting nonstop complaints and he says keeping the mess with the tanker hush-hush will cost us. Oh, here you are, sensei." The last was said in a colder, professional tone of voice as the phone changed hands.

"Katashi," came a growl, "I hope expansion is on schedule."

"Yes, sensei," Katashi's voice did not waver, though he began to pace. "As soon as we clear up these ridiculous investigations-"

"Ah, yes. Your mistakes costing us. Again."

"It is under control, sir."

"I'm beginning to wonder about you, Katashi. First you let your whale-hunting hobby dictate our factory's new location, a village in the middle of nowhere. Then you lose a fortune in oil, bringing scandal upon your branch. Tell me, why should I continue to fund failure?"

"I won't-"

"See that you don't, Katashi."

Katashi lowered the phone slowly to the table, a grunt aggravating the back of his throat, then raised it sharply above his head and propelled it across the room. Pieces of plastic frame and metal battery littered the otherwise-immaculate floor. Through the window, behind the fluttery curtains and the swaying and tasseled cords, in the dark and wind of the ocean, a fishing boat bobbed its way towards the drainage pipes. Katashi's shoulders rose and fell rapidly. He bared his teeth. The winds, he knew, indicated a shift in weather, a sea-change of a storm. The boat swayed closer.

"Get back in here please."

Three suits were brave enough to enter the conference room again. The other two had taken off, it seemed.

"Eiji," said Katashi, "I need a pair of scissors."

"Scissors, Katashi-san?"

"Yes, that's right."

"We don't have scissors here, sir, though the village has a barber's shop," said the suit, bemused. "Why do you-" he paused, detecting impatience.

"What do you have, then?"

Katashi seemed to sigh, a chill expression descending over his features as he donned the glasses once more.

- - -

The sea-wind beat at the window shutters of the bakery, cozy as could be. Inside it was warm and bright. Hana was finishing up the stitches on the golden clasp of a deep burgundy cloak.

"To make you less conspicuous," she had said, yet Fujimoto had insisted on the fancy clasp.

"Sit down and have some sake, my dear man. You're going to need it," said Makoto warmly. "Shall I go make some more bread, Obaa-chama?"

"Yes, do what you're good at, as I always tell you. If you're good at baking bread, bake bread," Hana said, a contemplative mood coming upon her as she bundled up her needles. "If you're good at taking care of the sea," she turned on Fujimoto and a genuine smile crinkled her weatherworn face, "Take care to do so. Morgan's going to need our help."

Fujimoto tilted his head attentively, stray tendrils of red hair falling across the bridge of his long nose.

"Now, how about some coffee?" Hana put the cloak into her guest's hands and brought the day's newspaper up to her face. The headline proclaimed, _Lighthouse failure causes tanker accident_; _government to investigate_.

"But the lighthouse only went out after the oil spill," said Fujimoto, running his lithe hands across the material.

"That's right. And wouldn't it be convenient if it had never went out at all? If, when the government investigators arrive, they are greeted by a working lighthouse?"

"Then there would be no excuses for dear old Katashi, would there?" said Makoto from the kitchen.

"Katashi? The man responsible for the oil spill?"

"The very same," Hana confirmed.

"Then I believe that would be very convenient, Hana-san."

And Fujimoto gave a grim frown, a frown portending resolutely unpleasant intentions toward Monsanto, as he slipped the cloak over his striped jacket.

- - -

The lobby, all marble floors and upholstered walls done in red and gold, was deserted. The secretaries and lobbyists and employees had been sent home for the night. Word was that the regional manager had called an urgent conference of his top executives.

Lamplight glinted coldly off the marble floors and steel furniture, across impressive glass desks and twisting metal sculptures. Vivid green plants stood in each corner, testament to Monsanto's pledge to clean policies. Indeed, Monsanto prided itself on maintaining such green policies – though, for some reason, the plants had to be replaced every other week because they had the strangest tendency to wilt.

Next to the vast expanse of the lobby alone, the village down south looked positively shabby. Evidently intimidation factored into Monsanto's scheme of coastal domination. The towering pipes and vast drainage system dwarfed even the nearby lighthouse, and the richly furnished interior upheld the image of foreign wealth, foreign industry.

"Western imperialism, right here!"

Morgan's voice echoed across the deserted lobby.

Ebisu's plan to have her crawl through the drainage pipes and thus stealthily enter the building had been rejected immediately, and she'd fiddled for what felt like ages with a hairpin brought specifically for the occasion before losing patience and kicking in the glass doors. Her boots still crunched on the marble floor, but she considered it a fraction of returning her favor. She patted the bulging pocket of her jacket, attempting to draw comfort from the device she had kept safe from the water, bought in the old days on the streets of Brooklyn for emergencies such as these.

"Right," she whispered to herself. "Forged licenses, where might you be? In that bastard's office, no doubt," she scanned the list of floor mounted on the wall, widened green eyes and said, "Hell with stairs, then," before pushing the elevator button. The _ding_ echoed faintly around the lobby and made Morgan glance over her shoulder once more.

Elevator music felt eerie at the best of times, which this was not. When the doors opened, one floor below the office, she sent the elevator up one floor and crept up the last set of stairs. It was cold on the concrete stairwell, and dusty with a strange, rotting undertone. The door cracked open to reveal a green eye and strands of fluffy, ash-brown and sun-blanched hair that framed Morgan's face. On the other side, two businessmen prowled outside the door she identified as her destination. Naturally they were complaining in whispers.

"-he said he'd use it for. And anyway, upper management will bring trouble."

"Tetsuo, did you really hear the sensei call?"

"No, it was his secretary. The sensei doesn't know, but Katashi-san says we should have been more careful. Hey, the elevator's here. Weird." The door opened expectantly, empty elevator waiting.

"Who knew propane was so flammable? The case said inflammable. Who makes these things so confusing?"

"The Chinese make everything," Tetsuo said.

"That's right, you spineless little lackeys," said Morgan, stepping from behind the door to the stairwell. "Know what else China makes well?"

The two took simultaneous steps toward her, but Morgan raised the taser she'd taken from her jacket pocket and pointed it threateningly at the duo. They froze, taking it for a real gun.

"Good boys. Now back on up-" she gave a nasty smile, though the taser trembled and her knuckles turned white. "Wonderful. Take the elevator down and go home, and I might decide not to report your involvement in _burning down my house_."

The last phrase Morgan hissed through her teeth, advancing on the suits.

They exchanged glances and dove into the elevator. The doors shut with a quaint little _ding_.

Morgan pocketed the taser into her coat, gingerly, and tried to calm the heartbeat reverberating in her ears. Her precious voice recorder, back from a short-lived journalism stint, had caught the suits' conversation and she had definite proof of arson now. Was there any need to go further? To obtain licenses when she'd have insurance pay for repairs?

Footsteps. Before she could react, two more suits rounded the corner. Luckily they were looking so bemused that they did not notice Morgan dart behind one of the leafy green plants that stood beside the elevator, and nearly upset the heavy pot in her haste.

"You think that scissors business was Katashi-san going crazy? You think the sensei fired him?"

"No, no," the other shook his head, sending his Bluetooth to the floor. "Didn't you see his face? He was glaring out the window at that boat. He thinks it's that westerner coming here to negotiate her house price. Wants to scare her away. As if she's crazy enough to show up here after we nearly drowned her!"

Morgan stifled a gasp as he bent down to pick up the Bluetooth, close-cropped hair inches from her face. She dared not move, not even to turn on her voice recorder.

"Katashi-san is paranoid, I'm telling you," the first suit whispered. Then he glanced around and frowned. "Hey, Taro and Tetsuo already left. Let's go home too. Katashi-san's in one of his moods and if he wants Eiji's fishing knife, that's not our problem. Everyone else has gone home."

The pair of suits summoned the elevator, now empty, and unwittingly followed their colleagues with no particular urging. When they were gone, Morgan sagged down against the wall in relief.

She thought of leaving. Then she thought of her near-death experience at Katashi's hands, of the sight of the Kaito house that night, of Fujimoto and the blackened sea.

"No way in hell I'm letting them get away with this," she murmured to herself, hand on the taser in her borrowed green pea coat. "Enough eavesdropping."

But she crept silently to the door from which the suits had emerged. There was a strange, scratching noise emanating from behind it, a nails-on-chalkboard screech. But the conference room was not where her interest lay, so Morgan passed by without heed. She gave a hard-faced, three-word gesture to the blinking red eye of the ceiling-mounted camera and hairpinned her way into the door labeled _Manager: Hachiro Katashi._

The office was impeccably clean. The hallway light illuminated a wide window where the sea beat upon the drainage pipes in rising swells. A glass desk, a computer monitor and printer, several filing cabinets lined the walls. It was Spartan and inhospitable décor. Trying to minimize the clanging of the metal drawers, Morgan set to work. The floor was soon littered with files and folders, with stationary and official papers. Morgan spared no expense in trashing Katashi's office as silently and hastily as possible.

Sprawled on the floor amidst the papers she read reports of environmental agencies, law suits, and health risks. She read purported accusations, records of energy use and marketing strategies. The wind howled in the window as she shuffled through piles of papers. And then she heard the faintest creak.

"Hello, Morgan."

The door slammed shut. Morgan whirled to find Katashi leaning casually against the door to his office, though she could only see his outline and hear his voice. It was dark without the light of the hallway, though through the window came a sudden, distant flash of bright light.

"Working late?" squeaked Morgan, fumbling in her pockets.

"You have _no idea_, girl," Katashi said, and he spread his arms in a gesture of welcome, voice taking on new menace, "how pleased I am, to see you."

-

.


	7. The Lighthouse Keeper

_A/N: I really must stop promising "one more" and getting carried away... this was a long chapter so I decided to split it. He may not be around long here but don't you worry, readers, Fujimoto figures primarily in the next part. Just got Ponyo soundtrack in the mail and can't wait for DVD!  
_

_Hope you enjoy, and as ever I am open and eager to follow your suggestions, advice, or comments. Do you find me predictable? Plot/characterizations you like/dislike? Lines that are just utterly out of character? Help me selfishly improve, and of course update sooner for a willing audience :)_

- - -

7. The Lighthouse Keeper

_I wonder what's inside  
Fish fillet knife  
Can cut  
Right through my eye ... _

_I'm going under  
You can feel them pulling me down _

- - -

"I can't say the feeling is mutual," Morgan replied, taking another step back. Katashi flicked on the light switch, wearing a deranged smile which did not melt off of his face when he saw the taser Morgan was shaking at him.

"You're mad if you think you'll get away with all this," she said.

"Now now, don't take things personally," said Katashi, "this is the business world. Tell me, have you finally decided to sell your house?"

"It's either that or work here. Are you hiring?"

Katashi laughed.

"How about you tell me where you put those forged licenses, and then maybe I won't taser you 'til you pass out," snapped Morgan, unnerved.

"Oh, no need for violence on your part, I'll tell you where they are. They're in my jacket pocket."

To Morgan's surprise Katashi took off his jacket and draped it over the chair. She saw a long, serrated knife tucked into his belt.

"Help yourself."

Morgan glanced suspiciously at the jacket, then back up at Katashi, who was again poker-faced.

"Back up."

She aimed the taser at him and he shook his head.

"You wouldn't-"

He was cut off as the electrodes shot into his shirt. Katashi evidently hadn't expected Morgan to back her bluff. He shrieked and flopped to the floor.

Morgan stepped forward and lifted up the jacket in one hand, dropping the used taser. The papers were all there.

"These the licenses? Thanks."

Everything would have gone peachy had Morgan not indulged her desire to gloat. It was difficult to resist with Katashi lying so disheveled on the floor of his own office, however.

"You know I never liked you even before you tried to drown me and burned my house down," said Morgan conversationally, stepping over Katashi to get to the door. "So it's actually pretty personal now. See you in court."

"Wait," gasped Katashi. Reflexively, and foolishly, Morgan turned around. And had her feet swept out from under her.

Katashi swung around from the carpet, sending Morgan reeling, and she tripped over the chair with a crash, the jacket and licenses falling. Katashi picked up the taser from the floor.

"Stupid girl," he sneered. "Get up!"

Morgan rose unsteadily to her feet, hands defensively in the air.

"If it's not stupid human it's stupid girl. You know this is really getting old." Katashi's look silenced her complaining.

"Now, come back here," he drawled, "And if you comply perhaps I won't taser you 'til you pass out."

"Yeah right, that old thing's got one good shot at most."

Almost immediately, Morgan found her eyes drawn to the long knife.

"Besides, I thought you said there was n-no need for violence?"

Katashi smiled another scary smile, took off his glasses. "Ah, look there."

In the window, there was a sudden light. Morgan took several steps with surprise dawning on her features. Katashi also approached the window, standing at her elbow, which he gripped casually. But Morgan wasn't paying attention.

"The light," she muttered. Through the thin rain, slanting diagonally in the wind, there was a flashing beacon.

"Yes, the lighthouse is working again," said Katashi, "But it won't make any difference without witnesses."

"Why did you torch it?"

"Now Morgan, don't be so naïve," said Katashi, loose grip tightening when she tried to shake him off. "It's the villagers' fault Monsanto lost a whole oil tanker," his frown turned into a sardonic smirk, "They were the ones who protested and turned off the lighthouse!"

Morgan rounded on Katashi, found herself with very little room to maneuver between him and the window, and his hand attached to her elbow.

"Get lost you filthy liar-"

"Am I?"

She brought up her other hand, fully intending to break Katashi's nose, but he caught her by the wrist and twisted. Morgan winced, face pressed into the cold glass.

"Now, now, stop squirming or I'll break your arm."

Morgan stopped moving though she let out a few choice words.

"That's better. Now walk with me,"

Katashi made quick work of directing Morgan into the conference room next door.

"Stay there-" he waved his knife to emphasize his point, after seating Morgan in a chair. She examined the wooden table, which was carved with strange, circumscribed spirals. That was the noise she had heard in the hallway, she realized as her eyes followed the design with strange fascination. It looked familiar – she recalled glimpsing a similar image in Hana's book.

Hana. The lighthouse. Fujimoto had once, long ago, been a lighthouse keeper. Could he have reached the lighthouse? Morgan's heart sank. If he was at the lighthouse then all hope of reinforcements was off for some time. The only fast path from the lighthouse to Monsanto lay through the bamboo forests, and Fujimoto would naturally prefer to take a sea route.

"You look distressed," Katashi observed, and abruptly Morgan was jerked back to her situation as he tightened the curtain cord he had wound to secure his captive writer to the armrests and legs of the chair. Morgan felt the bloodflow in her forearms and ankles constrict.

"Do you know, Morgan, how long it took me to persuade Monsanto to open up business here?"

He didn't pause for a reply.

"I had to work at headquarters in St. Louis – that's the middle of nowhere in America, the most agrarian and uncivilized place I'd ever been! Full of stupid westerners. But I convinced them," he chuckled, "Yes, I convinced them to open up here… here, where I can participate in whale hunts, and expand along the shoreline."

Morgan regained her voice and, realizing her desperate situation, her attitude also.

"Are you going to monologue? Because I'd rather you taser me unconscious than listen-"

"And then," Katashi interrupted, unfazed, "who obstructs my expansion but another irritating westerner? I tried to warn you, I tried to help you, but you wouldn't listen. So I tried to scare you off," he shrugged, "and that didn't work either. But don't worry, I have realized what I need to do. You see, I found the most fascinating creature lurking in our drainage pipes after that little tanker incident. A very hungry creature, you know."

Morgan flinched hard when Katashi took out the long knife and brought it to her cheek. Eyes closed, she felt the cool steel, heard a soft chuckle in the vicinity of her ear, and felt a faint tug on her hair.

"Huh?"

She opened her eyes. Katashi had sliced off a section of her hair, just below the ear.

"Yes, this is even better. Usually this is a fish-gutting knife, but I suppose it'll cut bait, too," he muttered under his nose.

Katashi took a lighter from his pocket and singed Morgan's hair, before placing it carefully inside the circle on the table.

"How about evening it up for your ritual?" Morgan mocked.

Katashi's eyebrows rose at the suggestion, and he ran the knife entirely too near her face for comfort, chopping the other side shorter. As he leaned near to see what he was doing, Morgan landed a good amount of spit across his face. It was, in retrospect, not a smart thing to do. Katashi drew the knife back quickly and it bit into her cheek.

"And now if you'll excuse me, I've got a government delegation to meet, Morgan. Tonight has been a pleasure." He wiped off his glasses with a vindicated expression. "You wouldn't recognize it, of course, but that circle and tuft of hair is enough to summon my pet here."

He seemed to enjoy the dread dawning on Morgan's features as he carefully wound up the wires of the electrodes of the taser before attempting to give the writer a second dose. Nothing happened, naturally, because the gas cartridge failed, and Morgan laughed humorlessly.

This turned out to be another mistake. With a chill glare Katashi slammed the handle of the useless stun gun into the side of Morgan's head. This time, everything went black.

Katashi left the conference room door open, put his hand in his pocket and swept down the hallway, whistling. The writer's head drooped down, chin upon her chest, hair uneven and falling over a red-streaked face.

- - -

The first thing she was aware of was an awful stench. Sickly sweet rot, dusty, filthy and coating the back of her throat, her very lungs with residue. She coughed, choking, and stiffened painfully when a long hand wrapped across her mouth, the other resting with strange familiarity upon her shoulder. Something was slimy and stung her cheek. Her arms and legs were tightly bound, her head _hurt_, everything was blurring at the edges and someone was not letting her cough that disgusting scent from her lungs. Morgan lurched into a fit of miserable shaking, feeling absolutely wretched. The hand twitched in surprise beneath her tears and jerked away.

"Who's there?" Morgan sniffed, and immediately broke into coughing.

"Shhhhh!" said the person behind her, fiddling with the curtain cord. In moments her left arm was free, and a mane of ginger hair fell over her shoulder as Fujimoto leaned down to untie the other arm. Morgan inhaled deeply; fresh, invigorating and salty, the mass of hair tickled her face. There was a bamboo leaf in there, too.

"Are you alright?"

"Yes, please don't move," Morgan breathed.

"What?"

"I said your nose is poking my collarbone," Morgan croaked out. Next second she could feel her feet again as the cord fell to the floor. "Never liked tassels…"

Fujimoto leaned up again, frowning, considering his hand which was dark with congealed blood, and then Morgan who didn't look much better.

"You're bleeding."

"Don't sound so horrified. It's a scratch."

"Yes, but human blood-"

"Is in your veins right now, Fujimoto. I don't think you need to worry about your magic."

He looked apologetic, for the first time, and hesitantly helped Morgan to her feet.

"I had to wait for him to leave before-"

"You mean you were standing there watching me get my hair cut?"

"I had to make sure," his gaze landed on the table.

"Of what? What is it?"

"That he's summoned something. It's just as I feared."

Morgan brought a hand to her head. "Please," she said slowly, "can you stop confusing me for just this once? I have a hell of a headache right now. That smell isn't helping."

"We've got to get out of here, Morgan."

He tugged on Morgan's arm, which elicited a wince, but Morgan resisted stubbornly.

"Explain," she demanded.

Fujimoto sighed impatiently.

- - -


	8. Looking Up at the Stars

_  
A/N:_

_I left this slightly open-ended. It is meant to be that way. I find many of Miyazaki's works may be interpreted different ways – that's what we writers do, isn't it? – and I emulate him. The _Spirited Away _and haircut references all being there. What did you think of the relationship I developed between my main characters, I wonder? I meant for one-sided attraction and an unlikely friendship, but it is difficult to read over one's work objectively. The torment of leaving it as such was great… __(if you clamor for an epilogue, give me ideas on what to include and I just might...)_

_The lyrics I have used have been Smiths/Morrissey. The poem mentioned in this chapter is (my all-time favourite) _The More Loving One _ by the (favourite and beloved) poet W. H. Auden. It speaks of grief, of nature, of unrequited love, and I think anyone can relate to such things.  
_

- - -

8. Looking up at the Stars

_Tomorrow  
Will it really come ?  
And if it does come  
Will I still be Human ?  
All I ask of you is one thing that you never do  
Would you put your arms around me ?  
(I won't tell anyone)_

- - -

"After you left Hana told me that Monsanto is under investigation by more humans, and that the lighthouse had to be restored. I swam," he ignored the flash of humor on Morgan's face, "to the lighthouse. Then I made my way here."

"You went across land because you were worried about me…" Morgan picked a leaf out of his hair and Fujimoto turned away.

"The reason I care for the ocean, Morgan, is to prevent spirits of human greed and pollution from turning it rotten. I felt such a spirit arising here, and I had to stop it. That ritual was meant to summon it, likely to dispose of you. It's my job to prevent such spirits from surfacing. But it seems I'm too late, and without my magic I'm useless!"

He had brought a hand to pinch the bridge of his nose, frowning, and Morgan resisted an overwhelming urge to wrap her arms around him.

"Why do you feel it's all your responsibility?" she said abruptly. "Surely the reason you care for the ocean is love? So why must you act as guardian?"

Fujimoto glanced over his shoulder with those wide, despairing blue eyes and Morgan felt a heart-wrenching sense of helplessness, of responsibility and frustration and something distant, steely and dark.

"You're running from something that happened a long time ago, is that it? When you were human?"

"I am not running from anything, though we would do well to leave this place," Fujimoto sniffed.

"Wait," Morgan shot her companion a calculating look. "I'm starting to see. You must have felt powerless to improve matters when you were human. You can't stand feeling so again."

"If you are quite finished analyzing my motivation…" The tone was more reproving than irritated.

"Tell me and save us the trouble? I'm not going anywhere until you answer, you know." A strange smog was beginning to cloud her vision but Morgan waved it off to being hit on the head too often.

"Don't you realize we've got to leave this place? There's a spirit coming, and that human made sure it will be dogging you."

"Then you'd best tell me soon," shrugged Morgan, though now she held her shirt collar to her nose to mitigate the stench which was becoming unbearable.

Fujimoto visibly repressed a groan of sheer frustration. Sensing that she could not out-stubborn her opponent, Morgan changed tack.

"Then promise to answer my questions when we get out of here."

"Yes, yes, very well, will you please hurry?" Fujimoto held open the door expectantly. Morgan walked out quickly, feeling fleetingly guilty. Curiosity always won out.

"What would Granmammare do? Why isn't she helping you anyway?"

"She cannot be everywhere at once," said Fujimoto, and he sounded weary. They walked toward Katashi's office.

"You tell yourself that every day, right? And yet you seem in awe of her," said Morgan nonchalantly.

"She has that effect on most beings, yes."

"There's a word for that. Uxorious. Doesn't sound like a healthy relationship."

"Well it's certainly better than ceaseless bickering."

"I wasn't drawing comparisons by any means," Morgan shot back, surprised by the vehemence.

"We're wasting time," Fujimoto peered around anxiously. "The papers could be anywhere… when I think about the stakes involved-"

"We'll find them," said Morgan firmly. "And I have a good idea of where."

The licenses were on the floor of Katashi's office, which was still unlocked, and rather the worse for wear. Morgan picked them up, shuffled them into a semblance of order and put them into an inner pocket.

"So what're we gonna do about the spirit? Can we lure it into a landfill or something?"

"It needs to be purged of whatever human influence it has absorbed, and then purified by the clearest water. If I had my elixirs we might hold it off…"

"Right, let's beat it then."

Just as Morgan spoke a strange, oozing, sizzling sound came from the conference room next door. Fujimoto's eyes widened and he sprang for the window of Katashi's office, flinging it open. Rain gushed inside on the wind.

"Come along-" he said, swinging his legs over the sill and slipping and sliding on the ledge. Morgan followed without pausing to consider.

Outside it was wet and dark and Fujimoto had somehow scrambled across onto a pipe that ran along the side of the building, well below the window. His hair whipped in the wind and Morgan was reminded of when, after nearly drowning, she had seen him with fiery hair that splayed everywhere, and for some reason the smell of baking bread.

"I'm a sucker for redheads and it's going to get me killed," she whispered, voice lost on the wind, and jumped. The pipe creaked and slid from beneath her feet, and Morgan felt herself lose balance and the world tilt...

Wiry arms grabbed her around the middle, and just in time. Fujimoto winced as Morgan clutched his hair in panic, and it took some time to get the clingy writer to let go.

"Come on, stop that," Fujimoto coaxed, petting Morgan and looking uncomfortable. They were getting steadily more saturated with water, standing precariously on the side of the building whipped by the sea wind.

Glancing down at Morgan, who had finally loosed her grip, Fujimoto gave a hint of an exasperated smile.

"S-sorry, I don't-don't like heights," she grinned apologetically, tinge of hysteria lurking beneath her voice.

Fujimoto led them along to the nearest window, which opened inwards, and helped Morgan through. Panting and dripping they stood in two puddles and gazed, open-mouthed, at the industry around them.

It was like standing inside a watch the size of a ballroom. Mechanical gears whirred and turned, and immense vats of chemicals were connected by a tangle of metal pipes that obscured the ceiling. A labyrinth of huge metal machinery on the ground floor was punctuated by assembly lines that rushed various steel parts across the floor. The clanging and bubbling and steam echoed, magnified by the size of the room, like some mechanical beast. The entire place was lit by an enormous, screeching furnace on the far side which heated a vat of something acrid. A large pipe labeled _Runoff_ ran along the wall. Morgan noticed a lever coming off the runoff pipe. She depressed it from _open _to _closed _and heard a dull thud.

"Chemical processing room," said Morgan. Now she was the one leading, ducking under pipes, beneath billows of steam that sent blistering hot air in their path, searching the perimeter of the room for an escape. Fujimoto looked awed and disgusted, and she wondered idly just when he had been a lighthouse keeper and how well he knew of industry. She tugged him along just in time to avoid being scorched by a flume of smoke, though the smell of charred hair filled the air.

"This way," said Fujimoto, spotting a door. It was industrial grade, thick steel and a wire-glass window, and it was absolutely intruder proof. Morgan was tugging fruitlessly at the handle when she noticed a dark shape moving beyond it.

"Uh, Fujimoto, I think we'd better find another way out…"

"What?" frazzled, Fujimoto peered through the window. And brought a hand to his forehead. "Oh, this is getting worse. It's not taking a hint."

The door, which had not budged at their forceful entreaties, began to shudder.

Morgan gaped around. A ladder led up a vat of something sizzling, and there was a ramp that ran level with a row of windows, perhaps offices. It was dizzy work climbing, metal treacherous beneath their wet hands.

_I really don't like heights_, thought Morgan, leaning on the side of the ramp as Fujimoto scrambled up after her. The ramp spanned the entire room and led to a door that was cracked open. Fujimoto was leaning down and watching the shuddering door. There was a sound like tearing metal and the hinges came loose.

"Disgusting," gasped Morgan, covering her nose. "What is that?"

"Let's go," said Fujimoto shortly, dashing for the half-open door and dragging Morgan by a sleeve.

The carpeted hallways of the factory were unsettling after the bare metal of the previous room. The identical office doors and cool lighting felt artificial and eerie.

They stumbled along, eager to find a stairwell. Blinking red cameras winked from the ceiling. They swept past a room marked security where Katashi was lounging in a leather chair, watching several screens with a smug expression. He stood and leaned on the door jamb casually as they passed.

"Dead end!" he called after them, laughing. Unfortunately he was right. The hallway led to a locked door leading to the stairwell and Morgan and Fujimoto were forced back.

Behind Katashi, crawling closer, came a dark, lumbering shape. Katashi grimaced from the stench.

"Wait, stay back," said Morgan, but the creature advanced with surprising speed. "It's not after you-" Fujimoto had taken a step forward, looking grim and determined. He began to chant what sounded like a spell.

Morgan panicked. She raked her hands through her hair and her fingers came away with a hairpin. She dropped it, fumbled, and got it into the door. She flung it open with her shoulder, grabbed Fujimoto by his bright cravat, mid-spell and all, placed another hand on the small of his back and pushed him onto the stairs.

"Better run, love!"

Then she slammed the door shut with a final click. Fujimoto had stumbled against the railing in surprise. On the stairwell, only a faintly rotten smell remained. It was strangely quiet. The door, he discovered, was locked.

- - -

The government delegation had been inconvenienced by the storm. The man who spotted the lighthouse beam first had shouted with jovial relief. Making dock at the fishing village, the delegation secured their ship and immediately headed for the nearest restaurant to calm their nerves by settling their stomachs. The Captain had ordered a remedy for a long sea trip.

"Sake all around," said the Captain.

"Of course," said Makoto, giving a deferent nod and placing a bowl of steaming rolls before the dozen or so men.

"Would you like some tea, gentlemen?" Hana had approached with her kettle and begun to pour. "I would like to speak with you, Captain," she added in a low voice. The Captain, a young man with a sparse mustache and quick hazel eyes, said he was happy to oblige her.

"Good," said Hana, drawing back her yellow curtains. "See that lighthouse over there? I have an interesting story to tell you…"

- - -

Fujimoto must have paced a dent in the concrete floor of the stairwell by the time the door knob turned and Morgan had stumbled through. The rain had turned her short hair into wild waves and washed the blood from her face and now she looked dry and in shock. Fujimoto, who had been contemplating various gruesome ends for his would-be rescuer, was now staring blankly at her as she gestured him down several flight of stairs, eager to put space behind them and the hallway. When they were several floors down she paused for breath and reached a tremulous hand into her shirt to withdraw t

he bronze talisman, which glittered vividly in the light. She gave an astounded, lopsided smile, and seeing Fujimoto's glare, added a wink. That was the last straw.

"Morgan-" Fujimoto snapped, then sighed, continued in a softer voice, "You foolish, presumptuous, reckless human!"

"Yeah, that's me."

He was shaking her, anxious frown melting, and Morgan tried not to laugh or break down with nerves.

"It was the talisman… warded that thing off, and it went back after Katashi instead," she explained, suddenly feeling exhausted. "What _was _it?"

"Stink spirit," said Fujimoto, and Morgan's eyes widened behind her hand, which still clutched her collar to her nose.

"Those are real, too?"

"Unfortunately. I'm not surprised to find one here, although they usually stay away from the ocean," he grimaced. "The pollution and oil spill must have created it."

Morgan fingered her talisman.

"Actually came in handy after all."

"We have what we came for," said Fujimoto. He too looked infinitely weary now that they were relatively safe.

"Shouldn't we…" Morgan glanced up the stairwell.

"Think of what he did to the sea. To your home."

Morgan frowned in indecision. Fujimoto raised an eyebrow.

"It is his greed that called forth the spirit. This is our only way to be rid of it."

Morgan nodded reluctantly.

"It is only fitting he is devoured by his own greed."

Fujimoto looked curiously at Morgan. Averting her eyes, she conceded.

"All right. Two birds with one stone. Let's go."

- - -

The rain had subsided to a faint drizzle, clouds clearing to reveal a starry sky and a moon that loomed round and bright over the sea. Fujimoto's finned cruiser was skimming the soft waves slowly off of the large drainage pipes of the factory on the seaside. There was no more runoff leaking into the sea, and with the help of Ebisu and several elixirs, the water near the factory was becoming less murky and viscous, beginning to flow back.

Morgan was perched on the nose of the cruiser, hands intertwined in the little bird's nest where Fujimoto stood tall, cloak billowing out behind him. She looked up: hair streaming, he cut a lithe and graceful figure. All around them, the ocean reflected the pinpricks of stars, and the moon formed a gleaming trail of silver which speckled the dark surf. After the excitement in the factory the ocean felt dreamy and detached – another world.

Glancing down Fujimoto raised his eyebrows.

"Ebisu," he said, indicating a bubbling turbulence in the waves further offshore. "He is pleased with our progress."

"Hmmm."

A comet streaked across the moon, a flash through the deep sky.

Fujimoto stepped out of the crow's nest, leaned over the side of the boat near Morgan and withdrew a handful of the dark water from a patch where the moon was reflected. The light stayed within the droplets, which began to wriggle faintly, writhing in Fujimoto's slender palm, and then the light formed two curious eyes which blinked.

Morgan gasped as the droplets jumped from his hand and into the sea, became larger swells, dispersed.

"It's coming back?"

"The balance is improving," Fujimoto nodded, content. "My absences, my elixirs, and the cleansing rituals all helped." The moonlight played off his blue eyes, tired and pleased, and Morgan couldn't refrain from wrapping her arms around him. This time Fujimoto seemed less uncomfortable – perhaps he was growing used to her human quirks. When Morgan ended her brief embrace, he sighed, considering the stars, and laid an arm absently on her shoulders. They both settled on the bow, staring at the sky, Fujimoto's arm cushioning Morgan's head, which was still sore from her encounter with Katashi.

"Are you going to leave?" Morgan asked, idly twisting a long strand of red hair that glinted with a pearly fire in the moonlight. She had questions to ask him, she had his word that he would answer, but somehow she could no longer bring herself to force Fujimoto to speak. _Perhaps regard has turned to respect,_ she mused._ How inconvenient._

Fujimoto kept his eyes locked on the moon. The effect created an inhuman glow across his face and particularly in his sunken eyes. Morgan wondered if the make-up was an illusion or a side-effect of restored magical ability, for it was as undeniably impressive as Fujimoto's singularly off-putting and strange manner. It was also endearing, but she quashed that thought.

"Not until more of my power is restored," said Fujimoto finally. "I never do see the stars from below."

Morgan sighed contentedly, began pointing out constellations. The lighthouse beam cut a swath of white across the sky. Morgan said, "I know a better place for stargazing though I'm not too keen on heights."

- - -

Dawn bloomed pale lilac over the ocean, though it was obscured by the bamboo forest to the East. Hana and Makoto had driven down the road to the _Kaito House_.

"Very courteous of them to offer their help," said Hana, examining the government delegation, a truck which was following Makoto's Mitsubishi. "What a relief that young people can be accommodating these days."

"They were well fed," confirmed Makoto, "And we did promise to bring them proof. I wonder…"

"Oh, Morgan-chan will be back with it soon," said Hana, as Makoto pulled in to park and the delegation crew followed, unloading crates of supplies. "She's got a sea wizard looking out for her. A shame they had not met under different circumstances…" she shook her head, smiling.

The crew made quick work of their mission. Fresh wood replaced charred boards, windows were installed and support beams replaced. The sun shone brightly after the storm of the night before, and a fresh breeze off the ocean invigorated the workers, giving them strength to accomplish in hours what would normally have taken days. Under Hana's sharp orders the team were eating sandwiches and drinking tea as they waiting for layers of the pale pink paint to dry. Hana examined the work with a critical eye and, disregarding the occasional Susuwatari, found the Kaito House sufficiently improved.

- - -

"The big bear," she gestured up at the fading sky. "And there's Polaris."

"I had almost forgotten," he said faintly, long nose turned upward.

"I won't forget. I'm going to write about what happens when we let corporations poison our environment." Her tone grew fervent, a promise. "I'll expose Monsanto to the world."

"Good."

"You'll visit, won't you? When you've got the time?"

"Of course I will. Who knows what trouble you'll stir up next."

"Don't forget, I rescued you first," waggishly.

"Of course," a sardonic sidelong glance.

They examined the constellations, growing lighter, named some, admired others.

"Looking up at the stars, I know quite well…" she murmured, grew quiet.

"That for all they care I can go to hell," he supplied helpfully.

"You know poetry?" she sounded surprised, delighted, beamed at him.

"That one. It felt appropriate, at one time."

"I know what you mean," she sighed.

"Yes."

Dawn blurred the stars behind them, the sea trembled softly in front. The lighthouse beam silhouetted two figures, one clinging to the rail, the other raising an elegant hand to the ocean. A wave smashed to wriggling droplets below them, far below, and an unlikely fan of sea-spray foamed to their very feet, high above the sea. The taller brought its hand to where the other held onto the rail, settled thin fingers on warmer ones.

The beam was lost over the vast expanse of the sea, then surfaced, accusingly on a factory by the shore, no smoke escaping it now. The beam swept across the _Kaito House_, where Hana was directing repairs, and down toward the village, where the fishing boats were heading out, where Ebisu gave a merry wave with his fish prancing about him, and back into the depths of the horizon, where it was lost somewhere in the periwinkles and corals of the rising mist of dawn.

- - -

_AN:_

_Thank you for reading. Please leave feedback, and if you made it this far you deserve some sort of prize. Truly._

_And… Fin._


End file.
